Radioactive
by C.J.Ellison
Summary: It all begins innocently enough. And then James Tiberius Kirk has to go and make the colossal mistake of falling in love with Christopher Pike's niece. Matters only become more complicated from that point onwards: after all, the galaxy is a vast and dangerous place, and we all have our secrets to keep- even if we don't know it yet. [Kirk/OC, plus mentions of Spock/Uhura]
1. Chapter I: Bright as Night

_**A/N: **Alright, so this is something I started on a complete whim in an attempt to work off my writer's block. I plan to upload a new chapter every Friday to force myself to work- but we all know that's probably not going to happen. Anyway: this follows the plotline of the new continuity and will cover both films, with some non-canon twists that you will probably see coming because I haven't thought this through extensively. It's kind of a relief, actually, not to have planned in excessive detail for once._

_Anyway- enjoy._

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**R-A-D-I-O-A-C-T-I-V-E**

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_"There's something beautiful and tragic in the fallout…"_

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I  
_Bright as Night_

_April 16, 2256 – California, Earth_

It began innocently enough. Or at least, as innocently as was possible when James Tiberius Kirk was factored into the equation.

The venue chosen by the hand of fate- an obscure subterranean bar known as Black Glass- was not one of his usual San Franciscan haunts. Neither one of his preferred dives- artfully weathered and thrumming with an ancient rock and roll soundtrack, as rich in flavour and authentic as the whiskey they served- nor amongst the countless sleek nightclubs of the inner city that subsisted on gaudily-hued cocktails, neon lights and pounding techno rhythms, Black Glass fell somewhere in between; innocuous with a hint of grit, the bar possessed the remnants of a reputation as a former crime den, blended incongruously with tasteful fixtures and a classic décor of dark walnut wood, wrought iron and shades of vanilla, sable, amber and citrus that set its interior glowing as though it was lit with smouldering embers. Pulling in a decent trade at its peak hours- enough to keep its finances solidly in the black, and sink any newcomer into anonymity- the ambiance was pleasant, and the liquor relatively inexpensive.

Which, tonight, suited Kirk just fine.

The cadet was unconcerned with the finer details of how he had found the particular, unfamiliar bar; all that mattered was drowning out coherent thought with hard spirits, a personal mission in which he was currently succeeding. His heart had been thoroughly numbed, his mind silenced, a hollow heat was beginning to spread through his veins, concealing the tangle of rage and confusion and regret twisting inside him. Kirk's tolerance level might have been far above that of his peers, but with the sheer volume of alcohol in his system, it was a minor biochemical miracle that he could still see straight.

An even greater miracle was how he managed to dodge the punch thrown at him when he turned from the bar at a tap on his shoulder. Starfleet Academy combat training and the muscle-memory of dozens of fist fights reacted in the millisecond that he registered a set of knuckles aimed at his jaw, and the brawl exploded to a concerto of shattering glass and pained grunts.

Though he would barely remember the fact by morning, the fight was- for once- not Kirk's fault. Its lead instigator had been harassing one of the bartenders earlier, to the point where Kirk couldn't ignore it. He was a shameless flirt, true enough, but he operated on strict rules of etiquette: when somebody very clearly told you _no_, you respected that- and anyone that didn't abide by that simple social grace deserved to be taught better manners. Even as intoxicated as he was, Jim took great pleasure in almost casually pinioning the creep's arm behind his back until a member of staff arrived to eject him, leaving Kirk to bask in the gratitude of the bartender and the free drink they offered. He might have even talked them into bed, pretty and pliable as they were and offering up an invitation so obvious that it may as well have been in writing, but Kirk had gracefully opted out and allowed them to return to work.

Less than thirty minutes later, the aforementioned creep returned with a matching set of four flunkies in tow, salivating for a fight.

Kirk, on his part, was only too happy to give it to them.

He dodged a swing, delivering a vicious kick to his assailant's sternum in return, ducking another inelegant punch from behind. Adrenaline blended with ire and whiskey, and Kirk flipped his attacker over his shoulder, slamming him to the ground with such force that the glassware on the nearby tables shuddered.

It was just then, as he was about to turn back into the fray, that a burst of pain exploded across his back, the force knocking him off his feet. Kirk let out a groan, his head spinning- someone had hit him from behind with a _chair_, or something that felt very much like it- and he pushed himself up on his knees and palms unsteadily, vaguely aware that the floor was covered in shards of broken glass and that his leather jacket had not entirely protected him, noting in his periphery that an indistinct shadow was about to kick him in the ribs.

_Oh,_ he thought distantly, _that sucks._

And then, suddenly, they weren't - fortunately for him, since he hadn't even thought to brace for the blow. Kirk heard a yelp of pain and forced himself to look up.

The figure he saw moved faster than he could comprehend. Svelte, silken, jet-black, as though made of pure shadow, in a few fluid vehement movements they had disabled Kirk's remaining opponents with almost frightening, effortless efficiency. Kirk struggled to his find his feet, speechless, his mind moving slowly as he watched the hazy figure calmly step over a prone body and up to the bar. They unfolded a small sheaf of large bills onto the countertop- he thought he heard them flippantly say something about it being for the damages- and started in surprise as they turned on him abruptly, grabbed the collar of his jacket, and unceremoniously steered him out of the backdoor.

It was only when he was dragged out into the alleyway behind the bar, cold Californian night air sweeping across him, the slam of a metal door closing at his back, that he overcame his initial shock. Wrenching away from the figure, Jim brushed chips of glass and a rapidly congealing residue of beer from his sleeves irritably.

"What the hell was that?" He demanded, inexplicably annoyed.

"James Tiberius Kirk?"

The voice cut like a blade, English-accented, sharp as steel- and unmistakably feminine. Kirk blinked, shrugging his jacket straight over his shoulders, and looked at the stranger properly for the first time.

The _figure_ was, in fact, a young woman, human, beautiful in an elegantly angular way- the night skies given flesh. Long dark tresses were bound in a sleek French braid, swept away from her face, a few rogue strands escaping around her high cheekbones and ears; her eyes were thrice as sharp as her voice, a breathtaking shade of winter blue, accented by an outline of ebony kohl. She was dressed entirely in black- a high-necked leather jacket, skinny jeans, stiletto-heeled boots that reached her knees. Her physique and stature belied the ease with which she had destroyed his assailants, having walked away without a single mark, her breathing not even slightly laboured in the aftermath.

Jim realised, when she arched an expectant eyebrow at him, that he was staring, quite unashamedly. He blamed that last shot.

"Who wants to know?" He asked churlishly.

"It _is_ you," she responded tonelessly. "And to think he was so worried I wouldn't catch up to you in time. You don't look too terrible, all things considered. He ought to have had a little faith in me for once."

"_He_?" Kirk scoffed, his head beginning to ache. "I- look, okay, not that I'm not grateful for, you know, _that_-" He waved an arm at the emergency exit, almost breaking his wrist against the wall with the sheer carelessness of the gesture, "which, by the way, I would have got out of just fine without you- just saying- but I have no idea what's going on here. Who the hell _are_ you?"

The young woman- she was more of a _girl_, now that Kirk was looking at her properly; no older than twenty, if he had to guess, but certainly younger than him, at least- observed him shrewdly, a spark of something oddly akin to curiosity behind her eyes.

"Call me the friend of a friend," she said eventually. "I've been deployed to do damage limitation on their behalf. Apparently, there was little point trying to stop you from attempting to induce alcohol poisoning, but let it never be said that I will not take a challenge. Essentially, I am here to prevent you from causing too much destruction to yourself, your future career, public property and the planet as a whole. So, in other words: suit up, cadet. I'm dragging you home whether you like it or not."

Kirk snorted. His not-so long lost sense of blind arrogance was flowing back, resurrected in the wake of his current lack of concern for anything in particular. "Right, okay. Listen- this has been really nice and all, don't get me wrong- any other time I would be asking for your number- but go tell your _friend_ that I don't need their help, okay? I'm just _fine_. I'm going to leave now," Kirk continued. "Later. See you around. Again, great to meet you."

Before he could take so much a single swaggering step away, Kirk found his arm held in a firm grip.

Piercing blue eyes stared up into him.

"I could just knock you out," she stated coolly, and Kirk glanced down at her fingers, pale and lunar against the leather of his jacket sleeve, slender but unyielding. "You saw what I did in there. None of your aptitude test results or combat training grades will help you against me- as astounding as they are, I will admit."

The comment, for some reason, gave him pause. "Wait. Hey, you know about- that? About me?"

"Naturally." Her tone was dissonantly casual, as though they were discussing the matter over coffee in a solar-lit barista bar, rather than in a dank alley after a bar fight. "Kirk, James Tiberius; twenty three years old as of next month, command specialism, known as the resident arrogant bastard of his class at Starfleet Academy- although, once you glance at the data records, has actually earned the right to be. Walked into enrolment last summer from a shuttle out of Storm Lake, Iowa, passed on raw charm and intellect, skipped an entire academic year without so much as trying and currently counted amongst the top seven percent of most of his classes." Her head quirked to one side, the trace of a playful smile playing at her mouth. "You would be much more impressive if you showed a little humility once in a while, you know."

Jim found himself grinning. "Humility's boring."

The subtle shadow at her mouth deepened, just slightly, into Mona Lisa proportions. She closed her eyes and gave a measured sigh.

"Alright. I can ask nicely, if that is what it will take. _Please_. Come back to the academy, if only to let me sterilise those cuts- otherwise they will probably have gone septic by morning. Besides, you and I both know that you are going to struggle to find another drink this late."

"I could give it a shot," Kirk said blithely.

The smile became sardonic. "No you couldn't."

Kirk opened his mouth to deliver a witty retort- and instead found that his façade had been cracked. His self-assured smile steadily faded, and he realised, painfully, that she was probably right: all that he would do, even if he did somehow escape the hyper-competent stranger in front of him, was aimlessly wander the empty streets of San Francisco, slowly sobering, his heart increasingly heavy. Moreover, with that pitiful mental image now firmly ingrained in his mind, he suddenly didn't _want_ to say no.

Jim closed his mouth, and sighed.

"You got a ride?"

She turned on her heel, her hair gleaming like strands of spun onyx. "Follow me."

Kirk did as she asked, keeping his path steady and straight solely by tracking the natural sway of her hips, watching the tail of her braid brushing at her back. She led them though winding back-alleys, skirting around concrete corners and past miscellaneous shadows, until she finally came to a halt at a black chrome bike- sleek, streamlined and darkly gleaming, much like its owner. Kirk loosed a whistle, low and impressed, as she pulled the ignition card from her pocket. He had long since grown tired of the allure of material things, but he could still appreciate a beautiful piece of machinery and craftsmanship when he saw it, and this model looked to be in perfect condition.

"Ah, sweet."

She opened the compartment in the back and tossed him her spare helmet, her own swinging from her other hand by its straps. He caught it, barely, fumbling as he summoned up the last vestiges of his usual dexterity to snag the rim. "Put that on. I'm not going to let you get a concussion if you fall off. And hurry up." She gestured to her boots, and their absurdly thin three-inch heel. "These shoes hurt."

Kirk grinned. "Heels not your thing?" He teased, pulling the sphere of moulded metal over his head and snapping it into place.

The girl in black looked unimpressed, locking down his visor for him; Kirk's sight was suddenly tinted with intense dark indigo, before the clear screen automatically adjusted to the low light.

"_Stilettoes_ aren't my thing. Far too flimsy to walk on; not nearly enough surface area. Get on."

Kirk straddled the bike behind her, placing his hands at her waist, the taut leather of her jacket hinting at the supple body underneath. She was quite petite, Kirk realised with delight, willowy and strong.

"Hold on. _And keep your hands there if you value your limbs intact_."

Kirk barely had time to grin to himself before she kicked off the ground. The bike hummed, glowing, and purred to life, before shooting off at a startling, spectacular speed. His grip instinctively tightened around her, his broad chest pressing to her back, but she made no complaint, verbally or otherwise.

San Francisco and its waning night life rushed past them in a smear of bright light and flickers of mangled sound, the cold air forming a strong slipstream around them, the girl guiding the bike in smooth curves around the streets and other vehicles in their way with practiced ease. Revelling in the feeling of travelling, boundless, at such high velocity after so long, Kirk relaxed and tipped his head back to look up at the sky and dome of stars. Light-filtration shields surrounding Starfleet Academy cancelled out most of the ambient city light, the gift of an unimpeded view of the heavens for the cadets working towards serving amongst them; dulled and blunted with alcohol, his mind couldn't trace out the ancient constellations, or provide him with the details of which of the distant specks of light were solar objects and which were planets. He could see the faint band of milk-white translucent light that had given the galaxy its name, the one for whom the very word _galaxy_ in Standard Federation English had been coined so very long ago.

His heart seemed to simultaneously implode and soar.

"We're here."

Kirk levelled his gaze.

They were coasting towards one of the outer walls of the academy campus, towards one of its more isolated entry checkpoints- a security measure that was more of a mild precaution, thanks to the planet's overall safety being higher than most, especially in the very heart of what was often called the Federation's city. She drew up short of their destination, pulling the hoverbike up against the kerb underneath the thick shadow of a row of indigenous trees, and switched off the ignition. The silence seemed to seethe, crisp and clean and full of the scent of spring.

Kirk climbed off the bike as she stowed their helmets in the back, discovering as he tried to stand that he must have drank more than he thought- he had lost track, eventually. The girl caught him before he could stumble and smash head-first against the pavement, slinging his arm around her shoulders.

"I, uh, thanks," he muttered, still sober enough to be abashed, as they began walking.

"Don't mention it," she replied, with only the slightest smudge of sarcasm colouring the words.

They somehow managed to make it to the checkpoint without injury, the translucent energy shield refracting light in a shimmering web against the pale grey stone walkways and sculpted segments of grass interspersed between. Lifting Kirk's identification card from his back pocket, the girl in black swiped it through the scanner, triggering a panel to unfurl with the fluid snap, and the fingerprint pad to slide into appearance. Apparently not trusting Kirk's hand-eye coordination at present any more than he did, she took his right hand in her own and pressed his palm against the surface, waiting until it beeped obediently. The designated section of the shields dropped with a hum.

"Isn't there usually a guard on duty around here?" Kirk mused aloud, glancing at the compartment installed into the column tower beside the deactivated gate, noting vaguely that it was unattended.

"Usually, yes." The girl steadied Kirk on his feet and, once assured that he wouldn't drop the minute she released him, turned towards the station. Uncomprehending, he watched as she calmly picked the lock on the door and reached over, entering something into the gently glowing screen inside.

"Uh- what are you-?"

"Cleaning."

She pulled away and snapped the door shut. Before he could ask anything further, she was hauling his arm over her shoulder again and they were walking again.

The grounds were quiet. Most of the cadets were diurnal, as were the teachers and lecturers; those that were awake, burning the midnight oil, either sprinting towards a thesis deadline or else just trying to grasp something unclear from a class, were inside and oblivious to the unusual pair trekking across the smooth lawns. Still, the girl in black chose to take a more secluded route, dousing them both in shadow and the safety of obscurity.

They reached the Apollo Building- each accommodations block at the academy having received their name from an ancient celestial Terran deity- and took the circular glass elevator up, the door gliding open at the eighth floor. Kirk gestured towards his room and found himself swiftly nudged through the threshold.

"_Lights_," the girl commanded the systems built into the suite, "sixty percent." The room was instantly illuminated, enough to see with clarity but not enough to worsen Kirk's growing headache- something for which he was profoundly grateful. "Hm. Roommate not in?"

"Nah," Jim sank down onto his bed behind the partition, running his fingers through his hair as she checked the small bathroom nonetheless. Satisfied, she returned. "Bones had some kind of medical- retreat- _thing_. I have no idea. But he's gone for the week, so we-"

"Do not say what I know you're thinking, because then I _will_ be forced to punch you."

Kirk laughed. "You know something? I think I really like you."

The girl looked both flattered and somewhat surprised by his admission, unpacking several silvery medical instruments from a black messenger bag that she had retrieved from the back of her bike while replacing their helmets. "I, ah- thank you. I suppose. Um- jacket off, please. I need to check you out."

Kirk refrained from making the obvious joke, settling for a lazy grin as he stripped off his jacket and leaned back on his elbows, knees wide, to which she replied with a silent, exquisitely sarcastic arch of an eyebrow. Standing above him, she tugged his collar to get him to suit up straight and raised a slim handheld bio-scanner, detached from a medical tricorder, running the device over the air surrounding his head; Jim followed her shadow out of the corner of his eye as the instrument confirmed that there was no concussion or serious damage. His vitals were relatively steady, she informed him clinically, so they could avoid an uncomfortable trip to the medical bay. The girl then set to work on cleaning and sealing the many superficial cuts he had sustained in the chaos, tweezing splinters of glass from the lacerations on his knuckles. She was gentle, Kirk noticed, watching her- meticulous, deft, observant. When he winced, a piece of glass that she was removing snagging on living skin, she was immediately more careful, her touches lighter on his calloused hands.

She almost reminded him of something wild, half-tame, unreal- like a young panther that could shed her pelt at night to take on human form, or an ageless fae thing made of crystallised shadow and moonlight with breath like ice, or some equally impossible folkloric creature that he had once heard of from an ancient fairy tale or shred of mythology.

Finally, as she was daubing a clear gloss over his cuts- something to speed healing and keep out infection, she had said, though Kirk hadn't been listening too closely- she spoke.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Huh?" Jim had been too busy examining the delicious curve of her neck and collarbone, exposed by her unzipped jacket as she leaned forwards. "About what?"

"Whatever it was that made you want to induce liver failure."

Kirk tensed.

"No."

"Okay."

She didn't push the issue further. Instead, she simply bandaged up his hands with a strip of clean cotton each, and ordered him to remove his shirt so she could check where one of his attackers had hit him from behind- it _had_ been a chair, apparently, a predictably underhanded bar fight move. The girl in black sounded almost disappointed- or disgusted- by the lack of creativity. She confirmed that there was a bruise forming in a vicious red streak along the back of his shoulders, reaching down into deep tissue, though nothing that couldn't be drawn out and set healing at an advanced rate with a salve.

Her fingertips smoothed over tracts of muscle, tracing out the shape for him. Kirk closed his eyes at the simple contact, a series of shivers running through his flesh.

"It was my mother," he found himself blurting out as she applied a scoop of waxy, frozen balm to the bruise. "She- I found out that she died today."

All movement behind him froze.

"Oh." A hand rested against his shoulder, steady and cool as moulded steel. "I'm sorry."

Jim shook his head in reply. "No, it's- no. I don't- you don't have to- I mean, we weren't exactly close or anything. Ever, as in at all. I mean, she was always off-planet and my stepfather was a complete prick and after my brother left- I mean, what was I _supposed_ to do? I tried, I guess, after I enrolled, but she didn't- I- she never- I don't know." He was already rambling by this point, the words spilling out without thought or consent, but the girl dressed in black didn't seem to mind all that much. She quietly continued to work, smearing the salve across his back. It seeped into his skin instantly, the formula setting a cool sensation needling in his flesh wherever it touched. "I never understood why she married him, you know, my stepfather. My brother always said she had no idea what he was like when she was away, or maybe she wanted a new dad for us, but I never really understood why she would have wanted to replace him, I know she didn't really love _him_\- my stepfather, I mean, not my dad. Of course she loved my dad. Like, serious _love_. Everyone said so. Frank was like a stand-in. Just- _there_. Filling empty space. I get it, I do, wanting to move on, but- why would you want to replace someone you loved _that_ much? Can you even _do_ that? I sure as hell couldn't. I just- I think- you know what, actually, I don't understand why she would choose _him_, and I tried to tell her, but she never listened to me and all I wanted was for her to just- _argh_."

The frustration overwhelmed him, rendering him silent.

There was a moment of stillness. The girl said nothing- _listening_, Jim realised belatedly, and with some surprise. She had been patiently listening to his grieving, drunken, half-coherent ramblings as though they mattered. The shock of the idea was enough to spur him on, unthinking.

"I really loved her, you know. Really. I did. I just- I was just so _angry_ with her. After my brother got out of that place I just couldn't take it anymore. When I left it was just- _good riddance_. Seriously, what the hell? She didn't even _care_. I wasn't exactly perfect either, I get that but- I said some things I didn't mean sometimes. _More_ than sometimes. The last time I tried to reach her was months back." He swallowed. "When I told her about Starfleet. She didn't call back."

Her fingers moved over his shoulder blades, soothingly.

"Whatever else may have passed between you, I would be willing to bet that she was proud of you." Her tone was flawlessly neutral, and yet then again, not quite. "Parents tend to be."

"I think she was- maybe- in the end. I-I hope so," Kirk choked out, realising that his vision was blurring. He blinked rapidly. "I- hey, sorry, I-"

"What are you apologising for?" The girl had finished applying the salve, her slicked palm coming to rest against his spine, directly behind his heart. "She was your mother. No matter what might have passed between you, no matter what your relationship was, it's perfectly reasonable for you to feel upset, or conflicted, or not know how to feel, so long as you don't do something destructive in an attempt to drown it out."

"What, like," Kirk laughed, a single tear spilling over his lashes and dripping onto his bare arm, "going out drinking and needing a complete stranger drag me back to my room before I do something stupid?"

"Oh, by all means, drink yourself into oblivion if it will make you feel better. I won't stop you," the girl said indifferently, sliding off the bed and walking around to face him. Her fingers found his chin, gently tilting his head to back meet her eyes- still arctic in colour, yet seeming to thaw slightly as he met her gaze, as though under the high summer sun. "But somehow, I don't think it will."

She swiped away his tears.

"Emotions are not meant to be ignored. Stop shutting them out, James, before they rot you from the inside."

He cracked a faint smile. "Jim."

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"_Jim_." His smile widened, despite his eyes still gleaming with unshed tears; confusion, when painted over the aloof beauty of her, looked downright _adorable_. "Most people call me Jim."

Her response, and her smile, were both unexpected and warm. "Oh. Is it alright if I choose not to count as _most people_?"

This time, his laugh was genuine. "Well, I've known you for about half an hour, and I sure don't. Why not?"

"Excellent," she said, her smile becoming wry as she knelt in front him. "Now hold still, _James_. I need to fix your pretty face."

"Oh. You think I'm pretty?"

"I _know_ you are. And unfortunately, so do you. Now _hold still_."

He obeyed with a grin, closing his eyes as she set to work once again. Her left hand was at the nape of his neck, nails scraping lightly over his skin and sending a cascade of sparks through his nerves, the other efficiently cleansing and daubing medical sealant onto the cuts on his cheek, his jaw, his lower lip, the bridge of his nose. Kirk relaxed under her hands, the tension in his shoulders unravelling. The girl kneeling before him had witnessed his most vulnerable self, the secrets of his past unwrapped, and- even knowing of his infamous reputation- allowed him out spill out his heart and mind in an incoherent storm before promptly stitching himself into his usual blasé confidence and flirtation. She hadn't even flinched.

Vaguely, Jim wondered whether he had just fallen a little bit in love, or whether that was just the alcohol talking.

When she was done, Jim opened her eyes and saw a small, serene smile cross her mouth like clouds unfurling from across a bright crescent sliver the moon. "Finished. Alright, cowboy," she said, tugging off his boots and lining them up beside his bed. "Jeans off, too. You will need to get some rest, now, before the hangover starts to set in. If you are lucky, you should sleep through the worst of it."

"And if I'm not tired? I mean, I'm sure you could find a good way to wear me out, and you _are_ the one who suggested I take off my-"

"Hypospray."

"You wouldn't!"

"_Try_ me, Kirk. I dare you."

"Ooh, _Kirk_? What happened to _James_? I _liked_ James."

"Bed. _Now_. Before I become tempted to tranquillise you and leave you drooling into the carpet."

Kirk chuckled, amused for no other tangible reason besides general intoxication, as she yanked the bedsheets from underneath him in a single movement. She tossed the covers back over his almost-bare form, throwing his folded jeans over the back of a chair.

"I never asked your name," he slurred, slumping back against his pillows.

She glanced at him, straightening the bedspread and packing up the medical kit.

"No you did not."

"Well?"

The girl in black zipped up her bag and knelt next to the bedframe, her gaze level with his, forearms braced on the edge of the mattress. She was close- close enough that he would barely have to lift his hand to thumb a few strands of hair behind her ear.

"Well, what?"

Jim gazed into her solemnly, entirely serious and sobering slightly. "A name. _Any_ name. I might forget your face in the morning, but I _never_ forget a name. Doesn't even have to be real."

The girl hesitated, softening.

And then stabbed him in the neck.

"_Ouch_!"

She removed the needle of the hypospray from his flesh, dropping the case into a side-pocket in her bag and holding back laughter at his betrayed, increasingly drowsy glare. However, just as he though she was about to disappear forever, she leaned forwards, mouth against his ear.

"_Raven_," she breathed. The corners of Kirk's vision were becoming laced with black, tendrils pulling him into sleep. "You can call me Raven, if you must."

"Raven…" He echoed in a murmur, eyelids fluttering in a vain attempt to remain conscious. "_Beautiful_."

The girl in black smiled and, on pure impulse, leaned forwards to press her lips against his cheek.

When she rose to her feet, Jim Kirk was already dead to the world.

* * *

The next morning, when Kirk awoke with a pounding headache, an aversion to all forms of light and a mouth filled with the taste of stale alcohol and copper- mercifully, someone had left an unopened bottle of water on his bedside cabinet, and he kept painkillers in the drawer below- he remembered nothing of the previous night, exactly as predicted.

Nothing except a pair of eyes the breathtaking colour of blue ice, and a name.


	2. Chapter II: Reintroductions

_**A/N: **Changed this chapter yet again- I'm so picky. It's back to the original post, essentially- I wasn't happy with the last scene, so I'm going to put it in the next chapter instead. So, as ever, enjoy._

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II  
_Reintroductions_

_April 19, 2256 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

Three days after receiving the news of his mother's death, Kirk had somewhat recovered. Fragments of the night he had received the news returned to him in brief bursts: the ragged slash of pain in his stomach like a serrated knife; a churning well of guilt, anger, frustration, the agonising void of loss; his impromptu escape from academy grounds, the first few drinks- then a meaningless haze of lights and music and dark streets leading him to the encounter with the girl with the glacial blue eyes. _Raven_\- unusual, but oddly pretty, and he remembered it with startling clarity, as well as the fact that it had suited her to the bone: if his garbled memories were correct, she had been dressed from head to heel in black, her braided hair the colour of midnight to match. But he recalled little else, besides her words of advice. Exactly as she- _Raven_\- had suggested, Jim let the grief in, talking a few lingering doubts out of his head with the assistance of his irritable but concerned roommate, and reluctantly requesting two days of bereavement leave from his classes. His application was granted, with the promise that he could have a full week or two, should he need it.

He didn't. The inactivity chafed at him, and Kirk moved on resolutely.

"Kirk!"

The commanding voice sounding out from somewhere behind him, one he had first heard through a veil of alcohol and blood in a cadet bar in Storm Lake, Iowa, stopped Jim in his tracks. He turned, looking over his shoulder, and found his mentor and recruitment officer- Captain Christopher Pike, dark haired, cutting a figure as strong and weathered as granite in the charcoal uniform of instructors and senior officers on campus, bearing an aura that was capable of forcing everyone in the vicinity to take matters at hand seriously- walking down the wide pentagonal hallway towards him purposefully.

Kirk pivoted on his heel to face him respectfully. "Sir."

Pike inclined his head slightly. "A word, if you can spare the time."

Kirk knew better than to refuse such a request, and gave his nod of reply without checking the PADD in his grip. He followed as his superior immediately began walking in the opposite direction, parallel to the impressive, curved panoramic window that spanned the length of the corridor, soaking in what was arguably the best view on campus aside from those stolen from the rooftops; beyond the borders of the grounds, the sculpted steel of the San Francisco skyline and the glittering spires of the Golden Gate Bridge speared the clear skies in the near distance, the waters of the bay glittering as though encrusted with sapphires. Kirk could tell solely by the fact that Pike's pace was matched to his, wordless permission for him to walk level, that he was not about to be reprimanded for some infraction of Starfleet regulations; if that were the case, Kirk would be trailing a stride behind, trying to look as apologetic as possible as he came up with an excuse for his most recent indiscretion.

"So, you met my niece."

Kirk almost missed a step in shock.

His first thought was that he hadn't known that Pike even _had_ a niece, or even sibling capable of making that familial link.

The second was that, if he had met her, he hoped he hadn't forgotten her, because that seemed just plain discourteous.

The third and by far most panicked thought was the one that hoped like hell that he _hadn't_ met her, because in that case, it was highly probable that he had also hit on her.

"Uh." He said unintelligently.

Pike looked amused, much to Jim's relief. "I'm guessing you don't remember." He said flatly, a hint of a smile glinting in his teal irises. "Well, damn, Kirk. I assumed you'd be drunk by the time that she found you, but not _that_ drunk. Raven tends to make an impression people don't forget."

Kirk opened his mouth to make a hasty excuse, when the words suddenly hit with their full force.

_Raven?_

A memory snapped forth, startlingly clear. Moonlight, a sky full of stars, a dark alleyway- pale skin, long black silken hair in a braid, angular features, almond-shaped eyes.

_"Call me the friend of a friend of yours. I was sent to do damage limitation on their behalf."_

"Oh- wait, so Raven is your-" Kirk stumbled over his words, finally making the connection. "It was you. You were the _friend_ who sent her."

"So you _do_ remember." Pike drew to a halt at a vacant study room- a recording booth for the use of languages and linguistics students, soundproofed and unlikely to be in use within the next hour, given the keystone lecture that was being conducted in the assembly hall. Pike checked the digital registry before unlocking it, gesturing for Kirk to enter in front of him. "But I take it you didn't realise she was related to me. Not surprising."

Kirk stepped inside, the door sliding shut and automatically locking behind them. "To be honest, sir, I didn't even know you had a niece."

"Most people don't. She isn't technically a Pike, _per se_," the captain told him. He acknowledged Kirk's curious glance, and continued- Pike knew that his favourite protégé could be accused of being reckless, rebellious, a notorious troublemaker, but Kirk had proven himself to be trustworthy, loyal, a natural diplomat, and unlikely to share something he was told in confidence. "She's a cadet studying here: Valravn Winter, widely known as Raven. She goes by her mother's maiden name. You of all people can probably understand why she doesn't exactly advertise the fact that we're related, considering her career choice."

Kirk nodded grimly under Pike's knowing stare. Expectations- or rather, _assumptions_. People always seemed to think that simply because you came from the same gene pool as someone who had accomplished so much in the same field, you had to be a carbon copy of them, in both personality and achievements. Every time Kirk heard father's name or saw his image used as it was, almost without fail, in the recruitment media for Starfleet, or heard the instructors refer to him when they thought him out of earshot as _George Kirk's boy_, he felt a mixture of distant pride and increasing frustration. It didn't help that he bore what he had been told on more than one occasion was a striking resemblance to his father, making recognition easy for a stranger even without knowledge of his surname.

"If you're wondering about the accent, Raven lived in England with her mother until she was about twelve," Pike said. "My sister in law Karin was a psychologist based in London, so I only got to see her when I could find the time to visit. But- then Karin died, and my brother already passed when Raven was very young, so I took custody of her. She came here to live with me, and eventually joined Starfleet."

"Oh." Kirk realised that most of his immediate questions had been answered by that concise, almost alarmingly normal explanation. "Sir, out of curiosity, exactly how much did she tell you, about-?"

"Practically nothing," Pike said, remaining deliberately neutral. "She told me that you had made it back in one piece, and that was it. In fact, she seemed determined not to tell me anything else. That girl could talk in circles for hours and keep a secret under torture."

Jim felt a sudden surge of gratitude towards Raven- _Valravn_, he corrected internally- an even rarer name than her apparent moniker, fluid and full of soft rolling consonants in a way that was difficult to pronounce in Standard Federation English. It might even be non-Terran in origin; _Raven_ could easily be the Anglicised version. Kirk continued on his train of thought, racking his mind for previous language classes and searching for a match.

"So what exactly _did_ happen?" Pike interrupted his musings.

Kirk started slightly. "Oh. Pretty much what you'd imagine, I guess. She found me, dragged me out of trouble, got me back to the dorm." He paused, wondering how to express just how close he had come an all-encompassing self-destruct. "She was- she was really nice, actually. And she didn't have to be. She- talked a lot of sense."

"Sounds like Raven," Pike said, a flicker of pride flaring up behind his professional mask like flames behind frosted glass. "That girl has always been light-years ahead of her age. It's why I sent her. When I heard the news about your mother, I meant to tell you myself, in person- but then," he sighed, exasperated, leaning back against the table behind him and folding his arms over his chest, "some idiot in admin had to go and run their mouth before I got the chance. I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did, son."

Kirk smiled dryly. "It was a bit of a sucker-punch, sir, but I got over it. Thanks for trying to reach me. And- thank you for sending her. Raven."

Pike allowed himself to smile knowingly. "I thought she might be able to help." His gaze deepened slightly. "Did she?"

Kirk's expression softened. "Yeah. A lot."

"Mission accomplished, then. Good to hear," Pike said with a nod and, pausing, stepped forwards, pressed a warm, strong hand down on Kirk's shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "Listen. Jim. You need anything, you come to me. Alright?"

Jim nodded mutely, feeling his throat close up slightly with emotion. Pike unlocked the door and exited without further comment, to Kirk's unspeakable relief, leaving him to his thoughts. Leaning back against a nearby desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, emotionally drained.

Then the realisation crept in, and he suddenly found himself laughing.

He had a name. He knew that she was a cadet at Starfleet. And better still, Kirk had an extensive information network, and academy gossip travelled fast.

"_Valravn_, huh?"

* * *

_April 24, 2256 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

It was barely past the break of dawn, the Earth's sun blooming bright and cold over the horizon, light exploding from the broth of fog covering the city and the saltwater bay. She was in the empty mess hall- alone, as usual, after her morning run and shower, seated at one of the circular glass tables on the perimeter of the hall, her attention divided between the screen of her PADD and her first hit of caffeine of the day- when he found her.

"Valravn Winter."

She was taking a mouthful of scalding coffee when she heard his voice, and it took every ounce of her not inconsiderable restraint not to choke and send it streaming into her lungs. Frost blue eyes flicked up over the rim of her cup, and were met with a familiar form: confident, golden as the sun, wearing a disarmingly boyish smile that set off his eyes- the exact clarity and colour of sea-glass, blue tinted with green, sparkling like the ocean and as warm as summer.

He was far better looking without the cuts and bruises marring his face.

"Impressive," Valravn complimented him seamlessly, lowering her cup and placing it aside, the _chink_ of porcelain on reinforced glass echoing into the empty hall. "Your pronunciation was flawless. Most people butcher it beyond recognition. Hence everyone calls me Raven."

James Kirk grinned, one hand plunged into his pocket, the other gripping his own steaming cup. "Well- do you mind if I don't feel like being counted along with _everyone_? I mean, Raven is pretty, but _Valravn_ is kind of sexy."

Valravn arched a single eyebrow, the rest her expression remaining smooth and cold as glass. "Oh, so that cloying overconfidence wasn't the alcohol. Interesting. But since you can pronounce it properly, I see no reason why not." She paused, cool and impassive under Kirk's persistent stare, his eyebrows raised infinitesimally and gaze passing between Valravn and the chair opposite her; after a moment, considering him with all the fine precision of a scalpel, she placed the sole of her boot against the chair in front of her and, with simple straightening of her ankle, slowly pushed it out from where it was tucked under the table. "Take a seat. I know you're going to, whether I give you permission or not."

Oceanic eyes shimmered with silent laughter, and Kirk set his cup down, watching Valravn cross one leg over the other neatly as he took the seat opposite her. Their movements were leisurely, the two cadets observing each other closely, examining the differences now that they were both out of civilian wear and poured into the standard-issue mould of Starfleet cadet uniform. If Valravn had been given the luxury of choice, she would have chosen the senior officers' uniform over crimson cadet threads in a second, rarely wearing anything but black by choice. Internally, however, she was forced to admit that the blood-red jacket, long-sleeved high-necked sweater and skirt that she wore in the warmer seasons had its appeal. The colour was even more appealing on Kirk- almost much as the leather jacket and well-worn jeans she had seen him in last- though a blend of charcoal and gold might suit him better, she amended, imagining him dressed in the signature colours of command.

"One hundred and sixteen hours it took to find you. You broke my record." Kirk shook his head, dipping his gaze and glancing back up with her with a flash of a smile. "You are an annoying elusive young woman, you know."

"I try," Valravn replied dispassionately.

Kirk examined her for a moment longer.

"Okay. So you have my measure. Or at least you think you do." Valravn simply took a sip of her coffee, refraining from pointing out that she had seen more of James Kirk than anyone else on campus despite the fact that she had only known him for a collective hour and a half. He seemed to have said it deliberately, as the next thing out of his mouth was, with a smirk, "So what am I thinking _right now_?"

Valravn swallowed a myriad of caustic replies begging to fall from the tip of her tongue.

"Questions. I assume you have a few, otherwise you would not be here."

"Well, your uncle already answered most of them," Kirk informed her nonchalantly, taking a swallow of whatever was in his cup- black coffee, Valravn ventured, judging by the intoxicatingly bitter aroma emanating from across the table. The fact that Pike had spoken to him was more of a surprise than it should have been; out of respect for what Jim had told her that night, and wanting to shield her own mortification at how easily she had fallen under the thrall of Kirk's infamous charm- despite the fact that he had been _extremely_ drunk; it was actually impressive, both how smooth an operator he had been and how high his alcohol tolerance apparently was- Valravn had opted for silence, which would have worried Pike. Their ensuing conversation must have been how Kirk had found her. "And don't worry, that particular secret is safe with me. But yeah, I do have a few. First- _Valravn_. I'm curious. Where does that name come from?"

Valravn circled the rim of her cup with a fingertip. "What possible incentive do I have to give you an answer?"

Jim grinned roguishly. "None," he shrugged, "except that I think you're kind of enjoying this."

For a moment, Valravn contemplated slapping the proud smile clean off his handsome face. The flush of furious cerise-red would look stunning against his gold hair, she mused.

"Danish folklore," she said instead. "A _valravn_ is a shapeshifter, said to be a raven that have gained heightened intelligence by consuming the heart-flesh of a chieftain slain and left unburied on the field of battle. According to legend, they could speak in human tongues, fly for great distances, and if they were to drink the blood from the heart of a child, they could take the form of a knight."

Kirk's eyes were keen with interest. "I like it. It's dramatic- in a dark, savagely beautiful way."

"My parents seemed to think so," she replied, hiding the unfamiliar flutter in her chest behind a cold mask and turning her attention back to her PADD. She skimmed through a message sent from Starfleet Headquarters, downloading the file attached, and changing the screen to check her schedule. "Next question."

"Okay. I noticed you look younger than me. And I know that some cadets get fast-tracked according to skill, and going by what I saw the other night, you're one of them. So, my question is- how old are you, exactly?"

Valravn's eyes never wavered from her PADD's screen, though a smile curled at her mouth.

"I can guarantee that you do not want to hear the answer to that."

"Oh, now I _definitely_ do."

"Sixteen."

"See, that wasn't so- wait, _what_?!"

Valravn crushed down a laugh threatening to bubble up inside her. Kirk was right: she _was_ enjoying this, thoroughly, though she couldn't fathom why. Perhaps it was simply because he wasn't the usual faceless cadet trying to get laid. He was an audacious flirt, but he still seemed willing to engage her on an intellectual level, and had the rapier wit to spar with her. It had been too long since someone had challenged her to her favourite dance and proven to be a talented partner.

"_Sixteen_\- as of last December. Now, is that all?"

Kirk muttered something under his breath that sounded like _incredible_, and Valravn bit into the flesh inside her cheek as a distraction. People had said that word and its many variations before concerning her, in many other languages and in greater levels of praise besides, but coming from someone so wrapped up in his own ego- it was more than a little flattering.

It didn't hurt that he was exceptionally attractive, either.

Finally, Kirk spoke. "No, uh- no more questions. But that's not why I'm here." His eyes met hers with a sudden solemnity, the shadow of a smile camouflaging it. "I realised that I never thanked you."

Valravn's chest tightened. She set down her cup. "Oh. That. Don't mention it," she said quietly. "And I mean that literally as well as figuratively. I wiped the records of us leaving and entering the grounds from the academy security database, so I would prefer it if you refrained from saying anything. If people knew, it could lead to some awkward questions."

"Sure," Kirk shrugged. "Ah- so that's what you meant by cleaning."

"Mm-hm."

Silence fell between them, and Valravn could sense that Kirk was searching for a reason to stay, yet was preparing to leave nonetheless.

Before she could change her mind, she spoke.

"Cold coffee either needs to be poured over ice or tipped down the sink," Valravn said conversationally, picking up her cup and tapping the screen of her PADD, wiping the display, and bringing up a list of astrophysics equations she had been driving her way through when her inbox had chimed. "Could you watch my PADD for me while I get this reheated? I should only be gone a minute."

Jim's resulting smile was sweeter than honey, and utterly beatific.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Valravn would rather slit her own throat than admit it, but the sincerity of his smile set liquid warmth blossoming in her chest and trickling through her veins.

"Thank you; I'll be right back. In the meantime- I hear that you are supposed to be obscenely good with equations." Her eyebrows lifted in challenge, and she slid the device towards him, leaning over the table. "_Prove it_."

Of course, after a declaration of war like that, it was almost inevitable that they would end up having breakfast together.


	3. Chapter III: Slow Burn

**_A/N: _**_So, I'll admit, this chapter is mostly filler- but I felt like I needed to take a bit of time to establish the Starfleet Academy background in the two years before I move into the story proper. At about Chapter V, we'll be delving into canon events. I hope nobody minds the fluff until then._

_Oh, and while I remember: a quick note on the timeline in relation to academy studies. I figure the education system on Earth would be heavily modelled after the way it is now, and that most cadets at Starfleet Academy study for four years, normally, after a university degree- __so they would be about twenty two when they join up, and twenty six when they graduate. Since the incident with the_ Narada_ and the U.S.S._ Kelvin_ happened in 2233 on the same day of Kirk's birth, that would make him twenty-five at the time of the distress call from Vulcan- I think I already mentioned that Jim skipped a year and therefore would be in the graduating class, so, yeah._

_In that case, the first arc of this story (the plot of the first film) takes place in late spring of 2258, so therefore for the bulk of the story, Jim will be twenty-five, and Valravn will be eighteen._

* * *

III  
_Slow Burn_

_July 31, 2256 – Selardi Security Station, Luna (Earth's Moon)_

"Cadet Winter, you have a personal transmission on standby in your quarters."

Valravn glanced up from the touch-sensitive screen of her console, and the holographic data packets she had been coordinating- each window displaying the status of one of Earth's security satellites and monitoring probes- drew to a halt above her workstation as she drew back and turned to throw a questioning look in her supervisor's direction.

Solaris paused long enough in typing of their regular quarter-daily report to nod their approval. "Go ahead and take it; you're relieved for tonight. Keval, take over from Raven. There shouldn't be much left to do."

The latter was aimed at the Andorian cadet on the other side of the room, the intern working at the station that summer; five years Valravn's senior and at least a head taller, with an easy smile, azure skin and platinum blonde hair that curled to his collar, Valravn deliberately ignored him as she rose from her seat, transferring the data to his terminal and swiftly exiting, walking down the sterile ivory corridors towards the Mahina Wing. The lunar station was a respectable enough placement, albeit hardly exotic or exciting for an academy cadet, as a facility at the core of planetary security for Earth and Starfleet Headquarters by extension; the work was mundane, and the experience was relatively useless, but it would look good on her record with minimal effort given in exchange- and the view was unparalleled. Glancing out of the windows lining the outer walls of the complex of corridors, Valravn slowed her steps. Beyond the white curvature of the moon, empty space lay before her, thick and impenetrable, glittering with a scattering of stars. The planet Earth was lit by its sun- a perfect marble of dark turquoise blue heavily swirled with gleaming white, smudged with russet and green- luminous, carved out against the darkness.

Valravn absorbed the view, alone in the silence, before forcing herself to remember the call waiting for her.

Her cabin was small, but no more so than her single dormitory room at the academy. Valravn locked the door behind her and leaned over to the wall control panel to check the origin coordinates of the transmission, removing her boots as a string of numbers materialised onscreen. Rapidly calculating the location from the call origin identification code, it was not, as she expected, from Christopher Pike's current starship, or even coming from Earth- but from _Vulcan_.

Valravn took a seat on the edge of her bed and accepted the transmission. The screen fizzled and cleared, revealing a familiar face set before a backdrop of clay-red walls: rich dark skin, proud delicately feminine features, long black hair pulled back in in a high, sleek ponytail.

"Nyota," Valravn exhaled, crossing her legs, "finally. You must have been occupied with the archives night and day for a week. Is Vulcan to your tastes? I heard that the architecture is beautiful, and the climate-" Valravn stopped. Uhura was wearing the same hard glare she often adopted when debating a controversial issue with a close-minded opponent. "Wait. What?"

"I _know_, Raven."

Valravn raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you could be a little less cryptic? It has been a long day; I am not in the mood for riddles."

"Gaila let it slip."

_Traitor_, was Valravn's immediate thought. "Again, Nyota," she replied instead, feigning innocence and boredom in the same breath. "Feel free to be specific."

"_Jim Kirk_," Nyota intoned his name darkly. Valravn rolled her eyes emphatically and dropped back into a languid slouch, her hands braced behind her, wondering if this was how it felt to be scolded by a protective older sister. _Here we go._ "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Take a wild guess," Valravn suggested blandly.

"My first question should probably what in the name of the galaxy are you _doing_, messing around with a Neanderthal like him," Uhura surged onwards. Valravn barely refrained from rolling her eyes again. "I'd heard the rumours on campus, but I never actually thought that they might be _true_. How did it even happen?"

Valravn shrugged. "We found ourselves talking one day-"

"You never talk to people outside of classes."

"Your faith in my ability to navigate casual conversations _astounds_ me, Nyota, it _really_ does," Valravn replied, tone dripping with sarcasm, before continuing as seamlessly as though she had never been interrupted, "and as it turns out, once the flirting cools to a simmer and you get past the ego, he happens to be- _nice_." Uhura looked incredulous. "I _like_ him. He's- genuine. The most genuine person I have ever met. We go for a run together most mornings on my regular route, get coffee at this barista bar he showed me on weekends- we even collaborate on a few essays. Do you remember the paper I wrote late spring on the Eugenics War?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with-"

"He helped me with the research."

"He did _not_!"

"Yes he did, he sweet-talked the head of the archives into giving me access to several restricted sources after my initial application was refused," Valravn corrected her calmly. "In return, I helped him with some weaponry coursework a few weeks later." She flicked her wrist dismissively. "Child's play to me, but, then again, so is charming people to James."

Uhura shook her head, rubbing above her left eyebrow. "_James_," she echoed in disbelief. "Just- tell me that you're not sleeping with him. Or contemplating it."

Valravn shot her a withering glare that she knew would be felt even through the digital connection.

"You think so little of me, Nyota?"

Uhura relaxed slightly, appropriately apologetic. "No, of course I don't. I'm sorry, Raven- I just- when I heard that you had willingly endured Kirk's presence on more than one occasion, I got a little worried about you. Given his track record, you can hardly blame me. You should probably remind him that you're underage. That should get rid of him in about a nanosecond."

Valravn couldn't help herself.

"I'm legal in England."

She could just tell that Uhura was resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands in renewed despair. Valravn bit her lip, smothering a laugh.

"For the sake of your virginity, Raven, do _not_ say that in front of Kirk."

"Oh, please-! It was just a joke, Nyota." Valravn loosed a devious smile nonetheless, imagining Kirk's reaction to her comment- shameless molten-sun laughter and glinting eyes the colour of sea-glass.

Uhura made a sceptical noise in the back of her throat.

"Why do you dislike him so much?" Valravn found herself asking.

"Why do _you_ like him so much?" Uhura challenged in reply, genuinely confused. "He's narcissistic, impulsive, arrogant, completely unprofessional, willing to screw anything that breathes-"

Valravn shrugged elegantly, denying nothing. "Yes. But he makes me smile."

Uhura observed the younger girl shrewdly, the faintest hint of doubt setting in. A smile from Valravn Winter was rare, and according to the information that Uhura had extracted from Gaila, Kirk stole away with one regularly. And Uhura would be lying if she said that she hadn't also noticed the subtle shift in the way that her friend held herself over the past few months- the aura of constant tension from unused and wasted energy shaved away, replaced by hard confidence and cold pride- and wondered as to its source.

But still, she wouldn't trust Kirk with Valravn any further than she could throw him.

Valravn sighed, correctly interpreting her lack of reply, becoming increasingly defensive. "Alright, Ny. Try putting aside your personal feelings aside for a second and thinking about this purely logically. For a relationship to function and be healthy, it has to be mutually beneficial. I can tell you that it is, and you have absolutely no right to contradict me since you didn't know that we were even friends until, I would estimate, an hour ago. And James is not after me because of his usual _extracurricular pursuits_-" Uhura snorted; Valravn glared her into silence, "and even if he was, and was attempting to manipulate me- which he is not and _never_ would; not only does he know better than to try, he also holds consent sacrosanct, because he happens to be a good person with a moral compass stronger than bone, and that is part of the reason why I like him- you thought that I was intelligent enough not to fall for any of James' _tricks_." The word was said with nothing less than contempt. "Therefore, it follows that I should be capable of interaction of any description with him without being chided like a child talking to a stranger. What _exactly_ are you objecting to?"

Uhura battled with herself, emotion and reason clashing. It was so like Valravn to drive her into the proverbial corner with _logic_, of all weapons; she would have to consult with Spock as to the validity of her argument, just in case, but there seemed to be an annoying lack of holes in her reasoning. But then, Uhura couldn't say what she was really thinking: that she was not worried because she thought that Valravn did not have the ability to see through Kirk, but because Uhura feared she would not use it. It seemed an odd thing to suggest, but Uhura had seen for herself that Valravn was not just "_Miss Ice Princess, ever so slightly knife-crazy, 'I can kick your butt all the way to Qo'noS and look damn good doing it'_", as Gaila had put it. She was sugar and ice, and intellect could only compensate so much for the experience of age.

Someone like Kirk could potentially snap her in two at a word. It wouldn't even have to be intentional.

Uhura slumped back helplessly, knowing that saying such a thing would only cause Valravn to freeze over. There was clearly no way to extract her from this- whatever_ this_ was- now.

Resolved to keep a close eye on the situation, but refrain from interfering- _for now_\- she concluded with a weary, "Just- be careful, Raven. You know what I mean."

"Of course," Valravn replied coolly, accepting the offer of ceasefire while internally wondering whether she could live up to that promise.

Uhura smiled weakly. "I really am glad that you're happy, you know."

"I know," Valravn said lightly. "So. Do you want to start by telling me about your latest escapades with _Commander_ _Spock_-" Uhura blushed, looking away with a twist of her mouth that signalled she was trying to hold back a smile, "or shall I bore you with how cosmically beautiful Earth looks from Luna?"

* * *

_November 23, 2256 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

Kirk was thrown to the mat of the sparring room, groaning.

"Get up, Kirk," Valravn said pitilessly, nudging him in the ribs with the toe of her boot.

Jim, lying prone on his stomach, only groaned louder in protest.

He heard Valravn sigh, and beyond the large viewing panel a few muffled snickers sounded as their audience dispersed, their curiosity sated.

Valravn watched them leave, her gaze as sharp as that of the bird that lent its name to her, flipping a stray blade between her fingers with obscene grace before turning back to Kirk, sheathing the knife at her waist.

"Seriously, James, are you alright?"

"Yeah- yeah, fine," he said, struggling to sit up, his every muscle aching in vociferous denial of his words, "_ow_\- or- you know, no _less_ fine than usual. Besides- pain is perception, right?"

Asking Valravn to practice with him had been a proverbial double-edged blade, as Kirk had known it would be the moment the words came out of his mouth; he had no one else to blame for getting nicked every so often as he continued to play with it. On one hand, Valravn's unrivalled ability was legendary- scoring perfect grades across the board, from the tactical to the practical, close combat techniques to ranged firearms, reactionary simulations to detailed strategic exercises, she was easily the best human fighter that Starfleet Academy had seen in a long time, and the preferable option in terms of asking for help without having to swallow much pride. Valravn was a warrior, plain and simple. His performance had exponentially improved in the weeks since they had begun- but, on the other hand, the sparring sessions had left him mottled with bruises that Bones grumbled over with well-veiled concern, shooting Valravn reproachful looks every so often when they passed each other on campus that she responded to with a distantly amused quirk of a single eyebrow. When they had started six weeks ago, Kirk had specifically requested that Valravn to pull no punches, and as a result found himself floored in about one-point-nine seconds the first time they faced off- but the sessions only became harder on him when people took notice that they were happening. Both of them had reputations to uphold; Jim Kirk was too arrogant to ask for advice, and Valravn Winter was too cold to offer it to someone like him. And so, to the outside they made it look like just another power-play- Jim wanted the fun of flirting with someone untouchable, and Valravn delighted in the opportunity to take him down a few notches.

"Pain is pain," Valravn said firmly, heading over to the cabinet built into the wall, the panel sliding aside at her touch. Plucking a familiar silver instrument from the top rack, she returned to his side and knelt next to him. "And a good natural evolutionary indicator for damage. I think I might have gone a little far with that last combination strike, so shut your mouth and hold still."

Kirk gave a secretive smile as she switched on the scanner with a whirr, tilting his chin up with the tips of her fingers- as gentle as in checking his injuries as she was utterly brutal in causing them.

"I'm getting flashbacks."

His heart skipped a beat when Valravn's eyes lit with a spark of recognition. "Never a good sign, James," she said neutrally. Kirk chuckled.

Satisfied, Valravn replaced the small instrument and snapped the medical cabinet shut. "You're fine. We should probably call time anyway, though."

"You sure, V? I'm good to go again," Kirk replied immediately, standing up and brushing himself off, supressing the sting of fire that jolted through his drained body, seemingly leeching the energy from his bone marrow.

"I know. But I have a class at ten-fifteen, and a few things to get done before then."

Kirk exhaled, stepping over to the control panel on the wall and entering in their time of departure into the digital register. Their training sessions had taken a considerable bite out of Valravn's collective fragments of free time- something that Kirk would be loath to cause, usually, knowing how crammed her schedule was. But he also knew that it was cathartic for Valravn- implementing the complex moves she knew by muscle and heart, analysing his every move and snapping forwards like a whip to counter it, turning her body into a weapon. It was, Kirk supposed, the one place where she had complete control and the advantage, and he was in the business of finding excuses to make her day a little brighter. He took pride in the fact that he was one of the few things that could make her smile, alongside rainfall (he knew it reminded her of England, of the place that was still her home in her heart), paper books (she loved the smell of the pages almost as much as she loved the metallic scent of rain on asphalt, the feel of the paper beneath the pads of her fingers, the sturdy weight of it in her hands), and the cold air at dawn (with the fog pouring in off the coast, shrouding the city in a veil of white vapour that would be burned away in the high sun, he had to admit it was beautiful; as though the entire planet was suspended and frozen in time).

As he was locking up the room, Valravn returned to his side, having retrieved two bottles of water from a dispenser, both cloudy and slick with condensation. She tossed one to him and they began walking, shoulder to shoulder, down the empty corridor.

"So- how's your Andorian boy?" Kirk asked, unscrewing the cap and taking his first swig, keeping his voice deliberately level.

To say that he was happy about Valravn's unexpected acquisition of a boyfriend would have been an outright lie. His complaints had gotten to the point where McCoy had outright asked him if he was jealous, which Kirk had vehemently denied- but been forced to admit, in lieu, that he felt, maybe, a little possessive.

Of course, if he ever told Valravn that, she would probably eviscerate him, either with her blade or her tongue.

Valravn cut her eyes at him in a manner that informed him it was categorically none of his business. "Keval is fine," she said shortly, glancing up at him with an expression he couldn't quite call a smile- it was a glint of the eyes, the arching of a brow, sparkling light trapped in ice just as the thaw set in- just enough to assure him she wasn't truly upset. "Change the subject."

Jim smirked, refraining from pointing out that the time she spent with him hadn't changed in the least since she had started dating, which in his mind was very telling. "Okay, fine. Since I meant to ask you anyway: don't you have a birthday coming up soon?"

She stiffened, almost imperceptibly. "Where would you get that idea?"

Valravn had an annoying ability to hide her emotions, but Kirk was more observant than he often let on. Subtlety was her element, but her thoughts could be found written on the surface of her skin once in a while, and Kirk was becoming an expert at deciphering it through sheer perseverance.

"Well, I know it's in December."

"And who told you that?"

"You did," he replied, grinning triumphantly, flipping his bottle up into the air and catching it as it fell effortlessly. "The day we met- the second time, that is. You told me that you had turned sixteen last December. So when is it? I'll have to get you something."

Valravn set her mouth, her eyes turning cold and flat.

"No."

"What?"

"I am not telling you."

Kirk stared at her with a disbelievingly hurt expression, evocative of a kicked puppy. "Oh, come on, why not?"

"Because if I tell you, you will get me a gift," she said curtly, "and I do not celebrate my birthday, so it would be a spectacular waste."

"And _why_ don't you celebrate your birthday?" Kirk probed further, feeling rather like he was poking at a steel bear trap: at any moment, the jagged teeth could snap shut on his wrist, but blind curiosity meant that he simply had to uncover what was underneath. "You're not categorically _against_ them, I know you're not. What gives?"

"_Nothing_."

She was looking increasingly uncomfortable at his persistence. Kirk was suddenly beyond curiosity, venturing into the tentative territory of concern.

He stopped, catching Valravn's arm to tug her to a standstill beside him. Her eyes remained frosty, but Jim could discern the subtlest trace of something raging underneath, visible only because he had caught her off-guard.

"_Valravn_," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Tell me."

He watched her closely, her body half turned away from him, nails cutting into her palms in mauve crescents, almost drawing blood. Even so, her expression was an indifferent mask, one that frightened him more than anything else.

The answer was forced, as though attempting to keep the words pinned inside her mouth, between her teeth.

"If I do not tell you the date, then you cannot forget it."

Kirk froze.

Before he could even begin to think of how to reply, Valravn's communicator lit up with a message alert. Automatically, or perhaps just grateful for the distraction, she unhooked the device from her belt and flipped it open.

Her expression remained cold and brittle, and instantly Kirk knew what it was about.

The academy rumour mill had it that Valravn's frequent unexplained absences from classes and campus grounds were because her talent was already being exploited by Starfleet Headquarters; it was said she was often called away for unofficial participation on covert operations and projects, which was why she was never questioned by the instructors. Jim could easily believe that there was at least a shred of truth in the theory. In fact, having personally seen Valravn's talents and mind in action, having seen her receive a message or email and abruptly announce that she would be unavailable at a given date and time, having sometimes witnessed her simply disappear for an entire day- even she was not that elusive- he had long since accepted it as the truth.

"I have to go," Valravn said, staring at the screen.

"Sure." Kirk's tone attempted at levity, before he remembered something important. "Oh- wait, V! Didn't you say that you had an extended deadline with Professor th'Zarath today?"

She was already halfway down the hallway by the time his words reached her. She stopped in her tracks abruptly, pausing, before hissing under her breath.

"Damn it, damn it, _damn_-!"

"Hey, don't worry," he interrupted, eager to iron out the creases of tension from her shoulders. "Just give the data chip to me, I'll take it for you." Kirk sighed, exasperated, as she glanced over her shoulder and gave him a doubtful look. "V, would you just _trust_ me? I have Stellar Navigation this morning," he lied seamlessly. He would be late for his _actual_ lecture, but that hardly mattered. "I'll get it to their desk before ten, I promise."

Valravn wavered, caught between pride and practicality.

"Only if-"

"I'm _sure_, now give it here," Kirk said with a grin as she reluctantly extracted the small silver chip from her pocket. Valravn returned in a few swift strides and handed it over, and he maintained contact a little longer than was really necessary, gripping her wrist- shockingly slim underneath his hand, all delicately jutting bones and smooth skin. "Go. It's okay."

Valravn looked away, and Kirk realised just how intensely he had been gazing at her. He ducked his head, feigning turning over the chip in his hand.

"Thanks, James. I owe you one," she said softly. She pivoted on her heel and disappeared behind the corner, the pattern of her harried footsteps fading rapidly.

Jim closed his eyes in the ensuing silence, desperately ignoring the ghost of her fingers lingering on his.

* * *

_December 10, 2256 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Jim Kirk was brimming with them, after all.

And yet it did.

Valravn stumbled through the door to her quarters, aching with exhaustion, her mind ceaselessly churning with excess information. Her head hurt. She was craving sugar. She wanted to sleep until the apocalypse and beyond. It was her birthday today- it was past midnight so it was _technically_ the next day and _by the stars_ she had been awake for too long- and no one knew or would remember. She felt like death. Still, she somehow forced herself to drop her PADD and bag in their respective correct places, to undress and toss her clothes in the laundry basket in the corner, to brush her hair and teeth and clamber into her sleepwear, driven more by stubbornness than anything else. Valravn Winter did not show _weakness_, not even to herself.

It was only when she was about to crawl between her bedcovers and sleep like a living corpse that she noticed it: two boxes, resting on her bedside cabinet.

Valravn collapsed on her bed, staring in confusion at the inexplicable apparition. One of the boxes was small and compact- supple black leather, wrapped with a cross of thick crimson ribbon, tied in a ludicrously neat bow. The other was larger, shallower, wide and long and an inch or so deep, plain white cardboard, atop which was a folded slip of paper. She hummed a groan of effort into her pillow and reached over, unfolding the note.

_Gotcha._

_Open these, then hurry up  
and go to sleep. I'll see you  
tomorrow._

_With love,  
James_

Through her crushing fatigue, Valravn laughed softly.

Ridiculously, she allowed herself to absorb the last three words for several moments longer (_With love, James_; she was reading too much into it, but she was too deliriously happy to care) before quietly slipping into her top drawer for safekeeping, forcing herself to sit up, and opening her gifts. In the first white box, she lifted the lid to find a thick slab of her favourite hazelnut and chocolate torte, ordered straight from a restaurant that Valravn knew she had only ever once mentioned to Kirk in passing, with a silver fork set beside it.

The other box contained something far more permanent, nestled in crumpled tissue wrappings under a silver filigree-latched lid: Valravn unfurled the midnight-blue tissue to discover a beautiful hair cuff, wrought from glossy jet-black metal, shot with threads of piercing blue- hanging from which, on a fine chain, was a little obsidian charm carved in the shape of a raven, suspended by its tail, delicate wings fanned and outstretched in mid-flight, exquisitely detailed to a feather. Valravn slipped the loop of black elastic from her hair and clipped the cuff onto the end of her braid, watching it tighten automatically, the weight comforting, a band of seamless metal as smooth as polished rock.

She shook her head, playing with the gleaming charm absently. How had he done it?

Oh well. She didn't care, she decided. Curling up against her headrest in her pyjamas, she sank her fork into the chocolate torte- essentially her birthday cake, she realised- and took a bite.

_Love you too, James_.

The thought melted into aether as quickly as it had formed, and remained forgotten in the morning.

* * *

_December 17, 2256 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?!"

Her grip was almost bruising as she dragged him away to a discreet corner of the quads, behind one of the buildings and the shadow of the bare brittle branches of a maple tree, leaves the colours of ruby fire crisp with frost and turning umber beneath their feet, but Jim was grateful for it- he knew that she would find out, and that she would be furious when she did, and just the fact that she hadn't confronted him in public was a small mercy.

"I know you're angry-" he began as calmly as he could.

"You have _no idea_ what I am feeling right now, so don't you _dare_ to try and tell me," Valravn cut him off caustically. "James- _you beat another student senseless_, you owned up to it like it was _nothing_, and you got yourself a _demerit_ and put on probation for a _fortnight_. Again, what the _hell_ were you-!"

"_He deserved it_!" Kirk exploded, his anger suddenly flaring up and spilling over, blistering his throat. "I heard him talking crap about you and I just- I-" Jim inhaled sharply, trying to cool his temper to a simmer, without success. "Look, V- sweetheart- I'm not an idiot. I know that you could have taken care of it yourself. But you shouldn't _have_ to. Not with the pressure you're already under. Just thinking about your schedule drives me crazy. You're taking about a dozen different unit courses, you're constantly called away by HQ for whatever it is they have you doing- _don't_ deny it, I know you can't tell me what it is because it's classified, but don't lie to me, we both know that I know- and then you get an internship when you should be relaxing over the summer, and I know you helped Uhura on her research for her thesis on xenosexuality, and then there was those practice sessions with me and- you just _deserve_ for someone to stand up for you once in a while instead of the other way around, even if you are one of the most amazingly independent people I have ever met. So- yeah, I beat the crap out of him and I don't regret it and maybe now he'll learn to shut his mouth. But if you want to slap me or punch me or something, go right ahead, I probably deserve it for going behind your back. All I ask is that you try to avoid my nose and teeth, if possible."

Breathless from churning out his speech at a furious pace, Kirk closed his eyes, squared his shoulders and braced for the inevitable blow.

He waited.

And waited.

_And waited._

Jim hesitantly opened his eyes. Valravn stood motionless in front of him, her arms wrapped around herself, looking anywhere but at him. The sculpted, ice-cold perfection had evaporated, leaving raw nerve exposed to the air.

It took him a moment to realise that her eyes were shining with a thick gleam of tears, angry and still intensely cold.

"No one has ever done anything like that for me before. None of them were dense, insane or reckless enough."

Kirk's shoulders dropped, softening, the barb missing its mark.

"V-"

"You were lucky to only lose a merit. Pike will _not_ intervene on your behalf if this happens again."

"Worth it," he said resolutely, smiling grimly at the memory of how satisfying it had felt, ploughing his fist into her former boyfriend's face. Andorian nasal cartilage was surprisingly brittle. "_Totally_ worth it."

Valravn simply stared at him for a moment. She suddenly swivelled away, shielding her face with a hand and blinking furiously, as though she was only just realising that she was crying- however, the motion only succeeded in sending the tears sliding down her face, catching on her lashes, sparkling under the winter sun like chips of ice. Jim almost instinctively reached out and yanked her towards him, enveloping her in a firm embrace, hiding her tears from anyone who might pass by.

"Thank you," she said, her voice muffled into his chest, tears soaking into his jacket. Her fingers brushed over the smooth lines of the seams, pressing down. Kirk's heart stuttered. "For- _everything_. You. Thank you for being you- a complete and utter _idiot_, James Tiberius Kirk."

It was at those words that Kirk could almost feel his heart slipping away, aware that it no longer belonged to him anymore- but he also found that he didn't care. The implication made him feel as though the long-since fused fault of the tectonic plates California rested upon were suddenly shifting, cracking underneath his feet, bringing the skies crashing down on him.

"By the way- _sweetheart_? You're such a Mid-Westerner."

Jim smirked, the earth suddenly stabilising.

"And you're so _English_. Locking up all your emotions like they don't exist. Such a Brit."

"Says the overemotional Yankee."

"_Hey_! Shut up."

"_You_ shut up."

"_You_."

"You are such a child!"

"You started it!"


	4. Chapter IV: Young Blood

_**A/N: **So, after some edits and the addition of a scene on the end, this officially my longest chapter yet, and also the one with the most filler. But I'm having a lot of fun with Jim and Valravn's connection, and I felt like while I had shown their emotional closeness, I needed to show a little development on the sexual attraction side (I mean, it_ is_ Kirk)._

_I may or may not be planning a little smut at a later date, which means the rating would go up, but that depends on the demand for it. I definitely plan on hinting at it, but- feedback, anyone? Just to give me an idea of your opinions._

_Also: this is the last filler chapter. The next chapter we will begin broaching the edge of canon events- and then we will be diving into events from the film. A solid sequence of events should (note:_ should_ means _might not_) make it easier to begin powering forwards and back on schedule. So, without further ado: enjoy._

* * *

IV  
_Young Blood_

_December 31, 2257 – California, Earth_

Kirk loved sunset almost as much as he loved the dawn. The sky was a faultless shade of blue, the clear frozen colour reminding him of a certain seventeen- _eighteen_, as of three weeks ago- year-old's eyes, and the few clouds that were marring the perfect void were luminous threads of pale gold and white as fine as spider silk, deepening in the west and blazing retina-searing orange. The world was beautiful, the city of San Francisco set aflame, dazzling wherever sun struck glass, the air bracing; it was the cusp of the New Year, according to both Earth's solar calendar and Western tradition, and to Kirk that meant one thing. Mentally mapping a route through the streets that had somehow become familiar, he flipped open his communicator and punched in a single number into his speed dial, plunging his free hand into the pocket of his leather jacket.

The digital tone purred promisingly, before the connection clicked to life.

"_Hello?_"

Kirk grinned. "What are you doing tonight?"

"_Getting roaring drunk, skinny dipping in Sacramento River and waking up with a raging hangover in the morning,_" a voice at the other end answered, trademark sarcasm injected into every word. Kirk snickered, his breath crystallising before him and dispersing as he continued his brisk pace. "_Why?_"

"I was serious," Jim replied, mock-offended, before lapsing back into his former warm tone. "I was thinking we could keep up last year's tradition. If you're up for it."

"_Oh? Which part, specifically_?" Her tone might have registered as deeply derisive, sharp enough to cut steel, had it been anyone else but him listening- but Kirk detected a tremble of laughter hidden behind it, and smirked triumphantly. "_The part where we sit in my uncle's apartment, watching ancient films and eating ice cream, the part where we go out drinking beforehand, or the part where we break the law doing the latter?_"

"I still hold that it is a stupid law to begin with," Kirk said defensively, glaring up at the glittering skyline as though it was somehow at fault for the United States' alcohol regulation. "Eighteen is plenty old enough to be drinking in a bar. Besides, that's the legal age in England, and you're technically English, so it's not _that_ illegal. Not that anyone actually cares. Just look at last time. Really, all you have to do is flash your academy ID to the bartender and they make the assumption-" At the light laugh resonating through his communicator, Jim shook his head forcefully, realising that he was rambling. "Okay, look, that isn't the point- you don't have to drink if you don't want to. Whatever you want."

Jim heard a soft rustle- her hair brushing against the receiver as she switched hands. "_I thought we only went out last year because you thought I was still feeling raw over a certain Andorian who shall not be named,_" Valravn asked, sounding genuinely confused. "_Which, I am willing to admit, I was. Maybe. A _little_. But since when was this tradition?_"

"Since I said so! Let's make it one," Kirk decided, his face still upturned to gaze into the rapidly darkening skies. They were turning a royal shade of sapphire in the east, and the brightest stars were beginning to flicker hesitantly in the waning light. "Let's face it, V, we might not end up on the same starship after we graduate, so we may as well make this one count- just in case."

There was a pause, punctuated by a thoughtful exhale. "_And you're certain that you wouldn't rather be, oh, chasing after a particularly gorgeous conquest instead?_"

Kirk frowned, coming to a halt. He turned, leaning against the base of a streetlight. "What? No- of course not. If I wanted to celebrate the New Year that way, I wouldn't have called, now would I?"

"_Hm_." He could have been mistaken, but Valravn sounded strangely pleased. "_So… if you had to choose between me or-_"

"No contest," he cut her off before she could come up with a scenario; no hypothetical would have been enough. "Why would I want some random stranger when I could have you?" Kirk shrugged, raking his fingers through his hair. "I'd have to be crazy. You're the best of both worlds- minus the fantastic sex aspect, of course. N-no, wait- that- came out wrong- I meant- uh, you know, no offence intended, I'm sure sex with you _would_ be more than fantastic-"

Jim bit his tongue, fairly sure that Valravn was smirking by now.

"Uh. Please don't tell Pike about this conversation. I'm pretty sure he would kill me and make sure that no one ever found the body."

"_Don't be ridiculous, Chris wouldn't murder his favourite protégé. He would just ensure that your entire Starfleet career consisted of a far-flung post on a sub-arctic climate planet,_" Valravn informed him pleasantly. Kirk shivered, despite knowing that she was only teasing him- probably. "_But I won't say anything, just in case. I would hate to think of your sparkling wit being wasted on nothing but ice and rock_."

"Appreciate it, sweetheart," Jim hummed out, flashing his most brilliant smile, hoping that seeped into his voice. "Ah, come _on_, V. Take pity on me. Everyone else left for winter break. Even Bones is in Georgia visiting his daughter."

"_I know,_" Valravn murmured, the soft hitch of her breath telegraphing that she had just hoisted herself up to sit atop a table- probably crossing her legs, one knee over the other, and lounging back with almost obscene grace against an elbow, the way she did when her mind was finally released work and studying and she simply talked. "_I never thought that San Francisco could feel like such a ghost town. Everyone seems to be away this year. Uhura went to spend the holidays with her family, and she took Gaila with her- I think Amrit is out of the solar system entirely- Hai is observing solar flares- and Chris is still away on some peacekeeping mission. It's- alright, I may be willing to admit that I am beginning to feel a little stir-crazy._"

"So… is that a yes…?" Jim asked hopefully.

Valravn heaved a sigh. "_Yes. I suppose. But we're eating before we go out. I'll cook something_."

Kirk lit up. "Great! What were you thinking?"

"_Absolutely no idea. Let me check what we have,_" Valravn said, the sound of her bare feet padding on cold tiles followed by the swish and low hum of a refrigerator door opening in the background. Kirk smiled to himself, imagining her wandering around her uncle's apartment, as relaxed as he ever saw her; her dark hair braided immaculately, as always, but dressed in a pair of black canvas shorts and tank top, the ones that clung to her figure without her noticing and accentuated her legs. "_Um… how does flash-fried chicken, and- hm… peppers stuffed with feta and cherry tomatoes sound_?"

Kirk voiced his approval with a deep groan of delight. "Perfect."

"_Great. Pick up some olive oil on your way- extra virgin. And sea salt._"

"Will do. Ice cream?"

"_Chocolate fudge brownie, peanut butter and- caramel?_"

"Of course. Anything else you want?"

"_Just you and your sparkling wit_," Valravn replied in a voice like satin, before terminating the call.

Kirk burst out laughing, secretly flattered.

* * *

Hours later, the sweet-salt peppery tang of classic Mediterranean flavour still lingered in his mouth, a pleasant burn of alcohol in his chest, a measure of whiskey poured out each in front of them. Lounging in the leather booth opposite him, reminiscent of a young, bored, vain queen on her throne, she had ignored the midwinter weather entirely, wrapped up in a little black dress that did sinful things for her figure and torturous things to Kirk, long hair pulled back in an immaculate silken rope over one bare shoulder, threads of her long fringe curling loose to tease her skin. The hair cuff he had given her last year held the braid together, fractures of electric blue flashing within the cold dark metal. Kirk felt almost annoyed at how flawless she seemed, even when she was supposed to be unravelling, while he was wearing a comfortably creased t-shirt with a long-fading design, scuffed jeans and a leather jacket contoured to his shoulders. He wondered if he shouldn't have suggested a night in; she would have looked more relaxed in her black sleeping-shorts and tank-top, barefoot with a pillow clasped to her chest.

Valravn had let him choose the bar, and Jim had immediately suggested one of his most frequented spots- somewhere that, at the very least, he knew she would approve of the music played. Kirk had finally corrupted her the previous summer; though she preferred the punk and alternative era a few decades younger than his centuries-old rock and blues, he counted it as a victory.

Still, Kirk could see the distracted glaze in her eyes, and he knew it wasn't from the alcohol.

"Something on your mind, V?"

Her gaze flicked to him, and she smiled briefly, cherry lipgloss catching the light, crossing her legs under the scrubbed wooden table, the hem of her dress riding up in with tantalising slip of soft black fabric. "I don't know. Should I bother lying?"

Kirk took in a slow, cooling breath, supressing a flare of something white-hot and wicked and wanting, attempting to tune out the inconveniently vocal part of his brain that proposed just dragging her across the table and _having done with it_\- which he could not and _refused_ to listen to, despite the resounding approval from other parts of his anatomy that certainly did not adhere to logic. Jim had too much to lose, and not solely via Christopher Pike's inescapable wrath.

Besides- he could do better than that.

"Nope," he said nonchalantly, taking a swig of his drink and attempting afresh to ignore the expanses of skin bared to him by her dress; the modest neckline was held up by two fine silver chains, crossing over her chest and fastening behind her shoulders, each kitten heel glittering with a tiny swirl of crystals. "And excuses about how it will kill the vibe are pretty useless too, seeing as how neither of us is going to be able to relax until you tell me."

"Hm. Point taken."

Valravn picked up her glass and took a sip, leaving a translucent print of shimmering gloss on the rim. Kirk couldn't help but think that the colour looked so much better on her when it had rubbed away slightly, scouring away the glitter, leaving only a powerful matte stain on her lips; gloss might taste unexpectedly good for something cosmetic and artificial, but it was so damn _slippery_, preventing him from gaining the traction needed to make a kiss spectacular- when it was like this, it wouldn't get in his way, yet he would still bear the mark of her on his mouth long afterwards, the particular colour dark and dramatic enough-

Kirk mentally kicked himself. He wasn't certain whether he was more annoyed that he had so little psychological self-restraint, or because his thought processes had been about a _kiss_, rather than some depraved bedroom act. If it had been anyone else, his mind would have been between the sheets in a millisecond.

Valravn was- _different_.

Not that she hadn't been involved in a hypothetical bedroom scenario in the past, many more times than Kirk would be willing to admit. His mind had catalogued hundreds of scenarios behind his eyelids, all sweet breathless _pleases_ and _yeses_ as he took his time, his tongue at the inside of her thigh, her nails ranking across his skin, his fingers twisting into her hair, her spine bowing to moan and whimper helplessly into his chest before biting out a demand that he immediately caved to-

_Stop it, stop it, _stop it.

"It's nothing," Valravn said, too calmly, pulling him away from imagined glimpses of crumpled sheets and loose dark hair and candy-coloured smudges of his pillowcase and the collar of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans, snapping him back to the present with a rushing ambient cloud of conversation and clinking glasses and low strains of music. "Nothing urgent. The good captain and I had a disagreement before he left. Well. _Disagreement_ might be putting it mildly. I was wondering whether or not I should call and apologise."

"Depends," Kirk said thoughtfully, lower lip pressed to the rim of his glass, his voice echoing into its well. "Was it your fault? The argument?"

"I suppose I was in the wrong- but- actually, no. I mean- no." Valravn sighed despairingly, suddenly sinking down in her seat gracelessly, her expression increasingly helpless. "I- well, I don't know, _maybe_."

Jim immediately straightened, concern and curiosity piqued. "Jesus, V. What was it about?"

Valravn hesitated.

"My specialism." She paused, biting the inside of her cheek, gazing down into the liquid amber swirling at the bottom of her glass. "He wants me to drop security and transfer into command."

Kirk's thoughts ground to a halt.

Captain Christopher Pike- his mentor, rational, level-headed, sharp as a tack, with a unique gift for gauging potential- had told his niece not to go into security. Valravn Winter, unbeaten in both long-range and close combat, with the additional distinctions of not only her age relative to her skill, but also in possession of superior combat training in Terran, Vulcan and Andorian martial arts; expert-level firearms training, specialising in long range rifles; tactical training; command-post training; emergency medical training; an honorary degree in engineering, specialising in weapons design, and verbal fluency in Orion Prime, Cardassian, Vulcan, and a smattering of Klingon.

Kirk found himself blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"Was he high?"

"Wha- _James_!"

Any other time, her scandalised reaction would have been funny. However, at the moment, Kirk was far too outraged on her behalf to notice.

"Was he _drunk_?"

"What?! James, no-"

"Brain damage? Hypnosis?"

"_N_-"

"Then there is no feasible explanation as to why Pike would say anything so damn _stupid_."

"_Kirk_," Valravn sighed, rubbing her temple with two fingers, resorting to the use of his surname in her frustration, "not that I don't appreciate your support, because I do, but it's not exactly helping right now."

Jim stared her down, smouldering. "You're not at fault, V," he said tonelessly. "You're passing with flying colours. You'll probably end up on the bridge as chief of security by the time you hit twenty, which would make you personally responsible for the security of the ship and the safety of every single senior crew member, captain included. And Pike wants you to switch to _command_? _Seriously_?"

Valravn raised her eyes to meet his- her irises the light of a distant blue star, their almond shape defined by a border of smoke-black eyeliner- just like the night he first met her. "He seems to think I would be more valuable there. That I'm wasting my potential."

"What business is it of his? It's _your_ choice," Kirk said flatly, quietly furious. "It would still be your choice to make even if he was right. Combat and tactical coordination is what you excel in, beyond anything else. Anyone with half a brain cell could see that."

Valravn tapped her glass with a single fingernail moodily. "I know that. Intellectually. But I… there a moments where I wish it could be different. Maybe. But I always come back to the same place. That this is what I am good at. And I suppose I should try to use that to the advantage of all."

She sighed, and Kirk saw a look glimmering in her eyes that didn't belong in someone so young.

"How do you explain to someone that you admire them, but you don't want to _be_ them, without hurting them? Or explain to them that you _can't_ be like them? That you won't ever be?"

"Tell me if you figure it out," Jim replied humourlessly, casting Valravn a gentle, sympathetic smile. "I wouldn't worry. Pike will come around. Promise."

Valravn smiled into her whiskey. "You can't promise that, James."

"Watch me," Kirk replied lightly, draining his glass. "And even if I can't, I bet it made you feel better."

She laughed. "Of course. As always. I don't know how you do it, but thank you."

Kirk was relieved to see the shadows finally lifting away from Valravn, still smiling as she knocked her drink back in a single move. The motion revealed the column of her throat, and suddenly Jim was arrested by the image of pressing his lips and tongue against her pulse point, wondering if he would feel the vibrations of her voice and the sting of her nails.

He instantly garrotted the thought.

_Cold shower, Kirk. Cold shower._

"I think I might try a house cocktail. The Black Dahlia." Valravn said suddenly.

"Ah- yeah. Chambord and Kahlua. Raspberry and coffee. That's your kind of drink," Kirk rattled off, flustered, muscles tightening deep in his abdomen, shifting in an attempt to dispel it.

"I'll get you another while I'm up there." Valravn slid out of her seat. "Oh- while I'm gone, maybe you could pass the time by thinking of how to explain to me how you managed to miss the curvaceous redhead who has been in your direct line of sight and blatantly eye-fucking you for the past twenty-six minutes. It's actually kind of disgusting." She smirked. "You're off your game, cowboy. Hurry and get back in the saddle."

She left before Jim could formulate a reply, an amused lilt in her step.

As she melted into the throng, Kirk's gaze flicked up to where Valravn indicated, just over where her left shoulder had been. The woman she must have been referring to was met his gaze flirtatiously.

Kirk looked away.

He _really_ needed another drink.

* * *

_December 31, 2257 –U.S.S. _Yorktown_; Alpha Quadrant_

"Captain, forgive me if it is not my place to speak of such personal matters, but there appears to be something preying upon your mind. That is, assuming that your uncharacteristic unproductivity is of indication."

Pike gave a distracted, vague noise of acknowledgement from the back of his throat.

"Captain?"

The commander finally caught Pike's full attention. He swivelled his seat towards the science officer, seated across the small chamber at his own terminal, his expression as unreadable as ever, spine perpendicular to his seat and posture carefully formal and ergonomic. Pike rubbed his forehead wearily, exhaustion weighing his thoughts down, as though his blood had been replaced with mercury.

"Yes- apologies, Spock. It's been a long twenty-four hours."

"I understand, sir," Spock said with the slightest inclination of his head, the efficient cut of his hair gleaming, the distinctive point of his ears knifing up through the immaculately cropped obsidian strands. "If there is any way I can be of assistance, please know that you need only ask."

Pike smiled wryly. "Thank you, Spock, but it's a private matter. Nothing for you to be concerned about."

"Ah." The half-Vulcan looked mildly uncomfortable for a split second. "Forgive me, Captain; I overstepped."

"What? Oh. No, I appreciate it, Spock," Pike said, straightening in his seat with a heavy exhalation, locking his fingers together, elbows resting across his knees. "If I was going to discuss it with anyone aboard this ship, you would be the immediate choice. But I can't ask you to do that, not in good conscience. Being burdened with your superior officer's personal problems isn't exactly part of your job description."

"Perhaps," Spock conceded. "However, I would be remiss not to suggest that the separation of personal and professional agendas may prove advantageous in this particular scenario, as I am more likely to hold an entirely objective view." He paused. "I would also hasten to point out that you made no request. I offered assistance without prompting."

Pike was silent for a long moment, Spock patiently gazing at him with dark eyes: human in colour, a softer brown than the glossy, almost black shade that was characteristic of those from other side of his heritage- but unmistakably Vulcan in their impenetrability.

"Cadet Valravn Winter. You are her personal tutor, correct?"

"Affirmative. She has been under my supervision since enrolment."

"If you knew nothing about my relation to her, and I asked about her performance, what would you tell me?"

Exactly as Pike had predicted, Spock was as impartial in his observations as ever. "I have few criticisms of Cadet Winter, Captain. She is remarkably intelligent, talented in various disciplines, and her dedication and work ethic are unquestionable. Her speed in the successful execution of both intellectual and physical tasks is considerably beyond the expected parameters for her species and age. Her performance is consistent. Her introversion and social reputation may prove problematic or obstructive in the future, though such matters may only be speculated upon as they rely on many variables; her contributions to collaborations are valuable and she works amiably enough with other cadets and her superiors, but she appears to have connections with only a select few."

"And her specialism? What do you think of that?" Pike asked, the strumming of his fingers against his leather armrest.

Spock paused calculatingly. "A sound choice, Captain. If Cadet Winter had not selected it herself, I myself would have recommended it."

Pike felt a twist of guilt in his stomach, but pushed further.

"And her future career," he continued, "if she pursues it to the fullest, what can she expect?"

"Success in the highest degree," Spock informed him, entirely without sentiment. The commander was not the type to select favourites amongst the cadets- and if he was, it was for undeniable merit first and foremost. "I can predict the likelihood of her assignment to the starship of her choice upon graduation is approximately 94.82 per cent. That statistic also includes the likely event that said choice will be the already heavily oversubscribed new flagship, the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. Furthermore, the probability of her assignment as a senior crew member aboard the vessel, should her performance continue its current trend, is 32.7 per cent, with an additional 17.901 per cent chance that she will be selected as hostile operations specialist."

"In other words, her career would be sparkling." Pike paused pointedly. "That _is_ what you're saying?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

Pike sat back in his chair, and huffed out a chuckle, defeated. The weight that had been dragging down upon his mind transformed into a ballast, stabilising him: a command career would probably be safer, and Pike truly did believe that his niece would flourish in such a position- but it was not his choice, and if the logic aligned with her, he had no room to argue.

"Thank you, Spock. It seems that when we get back to Earth, I will have some apologising to do."

* * *

_December 31, 2257 – California, Earth_

The moon hung low in the sky, the colour of rust, becoming brighter and paler as it ascended; within the next twenty minutes, as the date crossed over into the New Year, it would be ivory. The shadow of a skyscraper under construction towered above streets of slick frozen asphalt, several block away from Christopher Pike's apartment, twenty storeys of glass and freshly hardened concrete built and locked into existence, the remaining fifteen still hollow, innards exposed. Caging it was a skeleton of steel, bolted into a temporary scaffold; the frame went as high as the top floor, traversing its height by several feet, each beam wide enough to sit across comfortably.

It was from one of those narrow platforms, perched at a soaring altitude that seemed to brush the very ceiling of the planet, that Valravn and Kirk overlooked the city. Valravn's heart was still beating a hard rhythmic tattoo against her sternum, the wind biting her exposed flesh, flakes of ice melting on her skin. It had begun to snow, the world veiled by drifting swirls of cascading white.

It was, quite possibly, the most idiotic and fantastic thing she had ever done.

Valravn let her head fall back against the low horizontal beam behind her, the breeze lifting loose strands of her hair, and glanced to her side. In the city lights and the glow cast off the falling snow, Jim's eyes were a stunning turquoise, cutting through the desaturated, near monochrome hues that the night painted them into.

She shivered, and not entirely because of the cold.

Kirk suddenly chuckled, lazily swivelling his head to look at her. "You just climbed twenty four flights of stairs and six storeys of industrial scaffolding in a cocktail dress and heels," he murmured.

Valravn giggled, still trying to remember how to breathe.

"I know. And you _let_ me."

They dissolved into laughter, and Valravn shifted into the warmth emanating from Kirk, feeling him do the same. She curled one bare leg underneath her, the other hanging over the edge of the platform, making the tips of her fingers and soles of her feet hiss with electricity.

Finally, recovering, Kirk said, "Can we agree, no matter how awesome this story would be as an anecdote, that we cannot tell anyone, _ever_? Everything always gets back to Pike somehow. It's bad enough that we'll never live down the Catherine wheel incident. Bones still hasn't forgiven me for that one."

"Agreed," Valravn sighed, intoxicated by the madness the night had bought her. Her smile refused to fade, and she dragged in a breath to tell Jim that it was all his fault- she never would have concocted the idea while sober, and he was the one who had seduced her into coming with him to the bar in the first place- but the words dissolved somewhere between her brain and her tongue.

Instead, she found herself tracing out his profile as he looked out across the horizon. She followed the straight slope of his nose, to the shape of his mouth, across to his jaw, following the column of his throat, disappearing below the collar of his worn t-shirt and black leather jacket. His chest was broad, shoulders strong, sculpted by compulsory training and practice sessions with her; she knew the strength underneath the weathered cotton, knew both the power of his blows and the warm weight of his arm around her shoulders, knew the scars on his skin, stark white against rich golden tan, the stories behind them and why they had not been healed and erased by modern medicine.

Finally, her eyes darted back up to examine his unnoticed- blue irises tinted with green, the colour of Earth's oceans, flickering and soaking in the sight of the city before them, oblivious to her studying him- framed by bronze lashes.

From the very moment they met, Valravn had seen the facets of James Tiberius Kirk reflected in those clear, honest eyes: the rebel whose heels were eternally chased by trouble, the handsome flirt that could melt a heart in ten words, the reckless idiot she had to protect and drag out of danger at every turn, the intelligent cadet with potential that had drawn Christopher Pike to mentor him, the sincere heart in the depths below the shallow façade- she had only been sixteen, but she had been attracted to all of it, mind and body.

Valravn adored him, for every virtue and vice, for every perfection and flaw, in a way she knew that she never want to feel for anything else in the entire universe.

It terrified her.

Kirk suddenly turned towards her. "Tell me your greatest desires," he demanded softly.

Valravn grasped the first reply her panicked mind tossed out to her.

"Tell _me_ a secret."

Kirk's brows knitted together, a slight smile crossing his mouth. "Aren't they the same thing?"

"Not necessarily," Valravn replied, deciding that his smile should be outlawed as she frantically tried to enclose her heart back in ice, and chill the molten heat pooling in her abdomen. She would have gladly blamed it all on turbulent hormones (sometimes Valravn really _hated_ being an eighteen year old human) reacting to an acceptable target as an outlet, except for the fact that she knew perfectly well that that the irritating, primal _frustration_ had never been directed at anyone or anything before. Despite Gaila's exhaustive array of suggestions, every proposed gender, species and scenario had sparked nothing but either discomfort or apathy, and Gaila had finally declared her _asexual with a sex-drive_\- something that Valravn was completely comfortable with until James Kirk came along and made her doubt her sexuality. "Just because they're similar, that doesn't necessarily make them the same thing- a single disparity makes them different. Cartesian substance dualism and the reverse application of Leibniz's Law. Look it up."

Jim dragged in a breath and exhaled sharply, equal parts bemused and entertained. "Tell me _something_," he modified.

Valravn paused, taking the distraction for what it was, and thought for a moment before admitting, "I was terrified on my first day at the academy."

"Really?"

"Sure," she said with a shrug, running a hand along the platform, gripping the edge until it cut into her fingers. "Don't forget that I was only fourteen. And I had to be completely independent in the first semester, at least, to prove to Chris that I was ready. He never wanted me to go into Starfleet so early. I fought him for months, _years_, before he agreed. And I was alone, surrounded by hundreds of graduates who had attended some of the best universities in the galaxy. I was nervous. But then-" Valravn relaxed slightly, the recollection warming her insides. "Mid-morning on orientation day, not long after the welcoming seminar, I was looking for the Xihe dormitory when someone ran into me on the path. She was another first-year, post-graduate, like almost everyone else. I was about to start apologising when I realised that she was already apologising to _me_, saying that it was her fault completely, she had been focused on the map on her PADD. And I realised that she was just as out of her element as I was, and much worse at hiding it. As it turned out, we were registered in the same accommodation block, so we combined forces. She was my first friend here. She could tell that I was far younger than her from that first meeting, but she didn't care- she treated me as an equal. And the first time someone bought my age up as a negative, she assisted in verbally eviscerating them. Enthusiastically. In _Klingon_."

Kirk suddenly laughed. "Wait, wait a minute- this _friend_\- it was Uhura, wasn't it?"

"Of course it was," Valravn confirmed. "Who else would it be? She once told me that the reason she talked with me for so long that first day was because she wanted to listen to me speak. Apparently she'd never heard such a clear English accent before. Now- your turn. Fair is fair."

"Okay- just let me think." Kirk leaned back, the fabric of his jeans shifting against her bare knee with the motion. She was only slightly surprised when he reached out and absently laced his fingers with hers, his thumb smoothing over the back of hers. Valravn hated that she suddenly remembered a whispered snatch of conversation she had once heard on campus of how very _clever _those hands were; the words had lingered in the back of her awareness for days afterwards, making her look away with a guilty blush every time he dextrously typed something into a PADD. "Alright, I love twentieth-century vintage, you know that: cars, clothes, music, you name it. It's because of my dad. Whenever Frank was away, I used sneak up to the attic to look through my dad's old collection- that's how I go into it. When I left- I was about fourteen, funnily enough- I managed to take a lot of it with me. The vinyl records and the turntable were the first things I packed. I've still got it all in this storage shack in Iowa, near Storm Lake."

Valravn cocked her head at him curiously. "I never knew that. But… that's not the secret, is it?"

"No," Jim admitted. He paused, suddenly pensive. "When I was eleven, I totalled my dad's red Corvette convertible, retrofitted with a hydrogen engine."

Valravn was horrified. "A classic like that, and you _wrecked_ it?!"

"Frank was going to sell it." Kirk said simply.

"_Ah_." She understood instantly; Kirk would have done anything to oppose his stepfather, and he would rather see his father's possessions destroyed than sold off by his replacement. Her fingers tightened on his. "Speaking of classic cars: last summer."

Jim's expression warmed, like seeing the first break of light over the horizon at dawn. The previous summer had been a blur of freeways and narrow country lanes, sleepless metropolitan cities and forgotten glens, clear night skies studded with millions of stars, framed by the edges of the solar-panel sunroof of a converted sky-blue VW camper van. The road-trip had been an impulsive proposition by Kirk that Valravn had been unable to refuse- together, they had experienced the smelting heat and icy surf of the Golden Coast, ethereal waterfalls and free mountain climbing in South America, the icy tundra plains and forests of Canada, glancing over the cool elegance of Asian Buddhist temples, and the grand ancient cathedrals and citadels of Italy and France. Their route even veered onto Britannia and into England, where Valravn introduced Kirk to the blend of serene countryside, thousand-year old landmarks and sleek thriving cities of her homeland.

"Remember that song that came on the radio just as we were leaving the city limits that first night? With the windows rolled down and the sunroof open-?"

"Oh, yeah- _Counting Stars_. I drove you crazy playing it over and over the whole summer. I think you actually kind of liked it in the end."

"Yeah." She braced herself, and sacrificed her pride for the one person in the universe she trusted with it. "I, ah- I might- _possibly_\- have been lying when I said that I hated it," she confessed.

Kirk bit his lip, restraining a smirk. "What- you mean-? And- wait, what about _When I'm Gone_-?"

"_Yes_," Valravn groaned out, knowing that she would almost certainly live to regret the confession, resting her forehead on his shoulder to hide the heat of a blush she could feel rising in her skin. "_Yes_, are you satisfied? They just- they make me happy. Reminds me of that summer."

Jim was valiantly attempting not to laugh, but she could feel the deep rumble of a chuckle low in his chest.

"I used to pretend I was sick when I had a test in school."

Valravn rolled her eyes as she lifted her head. "Oh, we all did _that_. I was _never_ ill- I don't think I've ever had so much as a _cold_. But my mother used to dote on me whenever she thought I was feeling even a little unwell. She would stay home from work the entire day just to look after me."

"That's sweet," Kirk murmured. His eyes suddenly sparked with humour. "Sometimes I put chocolate milk on my cereal."

"I can play the piano."

"Huh." Jim drew in a breath. "I find jellyfish slightly terrifying."

"… _What_?"

"They're basically ninety per cent _water_! They don't have _brains_, V! It's _weird_."

Valravn stifled a laugh. "Noted. Ah- I actually sort of like it when you randomly whistle snippets of classical music to announce your presence."

"I'm the one who left you those faux-alcoholic chocolates for your birthday a few weeks ago-"

"I knew that already, James. You're not very subtle. I love rain because it reminds me of England."

"I want to sleep with you."

Valravn felt something hot lance through her. Her blood effervesced like champagne, threatening all semblance of coherent thought.

"That is hardly a secret," she attempted.

"Nah, that's not what I meant, V," Kirk said with a wry twist of his mouth, looking away, his expression shockingly wistful. "I- sex is _sex_. You know? Endorphins and serotonin and all that wonderful biochemical alchemy. But it would be different with you. It would never be _just_ sex."

He was _serious_, Valravn realised with a jolt.

"H-how so?" She forced out.

Kirk sighed. "Well, alright, part of it _is_ about sex- I mean, I'm only human and that way inclined and, in my defence, you are _unfairly_ gorgeous. But- with you it would be- I don't know. I've never slept with anyone that I was attracted to for their mind first, at least not before their body. And I've never slept with anyone that I've had a real connection with either- not like I have with you." He shrugged, still not looking at her. "I don't ever expect it to happen, obviously, but I just think it would be… _different_. _Good_ different, really good different. In fact, I think it would be goddamn mind-blowing. The fact that you're… _you_, would make it like that, I think."

Valravn was finding it hard to breathe. _Why was it so hard to breathe_?

"Well- that's, um-" She felt numb. She wanted to melt into the shadows and never emerge again. She wanted to lean forwards and kiss him senseless. "It- aligns with my… previous… musings… ah…"

Kirk suddenly grinned brilliantly, turning to look at her. "Wait, _what_?"

Valravn realised what she had just said several seconds too late. "What?"

His smile grew. "You've _fantasied_ about me?"

"_No_," Valravn replied quickly, stiffening indignantly. "_Imagining_ is very different from _fantasising_." _And I've done both. Extensively._ "It was as an intellectual exercise. Practicing predicting the variables of a hypothetical situation I am unaccustomed to. I was taking it to its logical extreme."

"Was I good?" Jim asked, his tone more genuinely curious than salacious. "I mean- you know, was it- uh, good for you?"

"I- well, okay, yes." Valravn was burning from the inside out. She was surprised that every stray flake of snow landing on her skin wasn't evaporating in a sizzling wisp of steam. "Very. I would imagine- um- that you would be-" _Talented. Attentive. Enthusiastic. Thorough._ "Proficient."

Jim hummed. "Interesting…"

Just as Valravn felt as though she was about to become physical proof that perfectly healthy humans could expire from excess stress attributed to embarrassment, she was rescued by the alarm on Kirk's watch.

"Sixty seconds until 2258," she announced at the delicate beep. "How shall we spend them?"

"They say that it's good luck to kiss on the New Year," Kirk said offhandedly. When Valravn fixed him with a steely glare, he only laughed.

"You. Are._ Awful,_" she said, injecting all of the vitriol she could muster into the four short syllables.

"Nah, you don't really think that." Jim leaned forwards, eyes glittering with silent laughter. "You love me," he said softly, adding a flirtatious wink for good measure.

Valravn disguised the flicker in her expression with a hitch of her eyebrow. He had no idea how close he was to the truth.

"I must. I haven't shoved you off this thing yet."

Kirk chucked again, glancing at his watch, and then at her mouth from beneath his lashes, a smirk curling his lips. Valravn had only seen that expression directed at her a handful of times- one that looked dangerously close to seduction- but it made her breath catch in her throat and her brain short out on every occasion. "Hm. Only fifteen seconds left to convince you that we will both be cursed with horrible luck for the entirety of the year if we don't kiss at midnight. Any tips?"

"Ask me nicely," she blurted out without much thought, before cursing herself.

_That does it- I am never drinking again. It disables my verbal filter._

"Valravn."

The use of her full name rather than the streamlined initial sent chills down her spine, his pronunciation soft and smooth.

Valravn met his eyes.

He didn't pause to ask for permission.

His mouth covered hers just as the first traditional firework, signalling the New Year, screamed upwards and exploded in a shower of golden sparks, dissolving into a cloud of fine, glittering dust. Jim's lips moved patiently, indulgently, leaving her free to pull away if she had wanted to, warm and supple and expertly attentive, his thumb at her chin. The sensations made her head spin, sending her reaching for an anchor. Her hands found his chest, tensing the cotton, her head dropping back as he sucked on her lower lip. Streams of fire cascaded through her. Unable to resist, she reached up and raked her fingers through his hair, and was rewarded by an approving sigh from deep in his chest.

It was simple and clean and sweet, and Valravn was addicted from the first instant. Through the endorphin-induced haze, her only articulate thought was a warning: _it's just a kiss. A superstition. It doesn't _mean_ anything._

The way her lips were tingling, electrical shocks sparking throughout her entire body, begged to differ.

When Jim drew away, the midnight sky was full of cascades of vibrant colour, bursts of celebration erupting all over the city along with the lights in the sky.

"Happy New Year, Valravn," Kirk breathed, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes were liquescent, the shade as magnificently warm as hers were cold.

Valravn brushed his lower lip with her fingertips.

She probably should have told him something. The timing was ideal.

"Happy New Year, James."

* * *

_January 9, 2258 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

He was in his dormitory room, halfway through relaying the events of his winter break to McCoy as the latter unpacked, when he said it.

"You really are in love with her, aren't you?"

Kirk swore he could feel his heart seize up briefly.

"I- _what_?"

"Don't even try and deny it." McCoy said irritably, his smirk belying his tone, tossing a stack of shirts into an open drawer. "Personally, I think you're acting like most of your temporal lobe was scooped out with a spoon. Fortunately for you, of all the people Raven is least likely to beat into mush, you're top of the list, so I guess it could be worse."

Jim desperately tried to relocate his voice. "I- whoa, Bones, wait a second. What are you talking about?" He laughed incredulously. "I'm- I'm not in love with V."

"Yeah, _sure_ you're not," McCoy intoned with a roll of his eyes. "That's why when you stumble in late at night these days, usually it's because you were actually studying- not _studying_," he said, stressing the term to add a layer of euphemism not entirely undeserved.

"What, I can't be _friends_ with someone?"

"You _are_ friends. Doesn't mean you're not in love with her."

"You're being ridiculous!"

"Come on, Jim! Your sex life has gone from a disturbing reality to urban legend. Not to mention the way you look at her when she can't see you- and the fact that you barely acknowledge the fact that anyone but her exists for a few seconds after she walks in a room-"

"I do have some interests outside of getting laid, you know," Kirk said defensively, insulted by the insinuation. "And even you have to admit that Valravn is an addictive kind of person. You should see her with Tallos when they get into it over weapons engineering-"

"And that's another thing," McCoy interrupted. "You talk about the girl constantly."

"Not- _constantly_," Jim protested, increasingly uncomfortable. "But considering everything she is and does despite being pretty much on her own, I think she's amazing. It's not like I'm not the only one who thinks that. Just ask the academy board." Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Unless you're going to tell me that _they're_ in love with her too."

The doctor turned on him, mouth set in a grim line. "Jim. You beat up her ex-boyfriend."

"He _deserved_ it," Jim said darkly.

"Of course he did, but that doesn't mean you weren't jealous. For those months that they were together, you nearly drove us all insane- going on about how you didn't know what she _saw_ in him, how he didn't _deserve_ her- and don't forget that I treated those injuries. That wasn't rearranging his face on behalf of a friend. That was attempting pulverise him into plomeek soup because you love the girl and he hurt her and that _pissed you off_."

Kirk said nothing. McCoy sighed, his voice lowering.

"Jim. Listen, I'm not saying it's a bad thing. I _like_ Raven- well, what's not to like? She doesn't take any of your crap and is the first to call you out whenever you're acting like a jackass." Kirk had to chuckle slightly, supressing his rising sense of panic that McCoy honestly _knew_, that he wasn't guessing, and was confronting him aloud. He could no longer run from it, or keep it locked away, not without the medical cadet berating him at every turn. "It's obvious you think the world of that girl, and that just being around her makes you happy," McCoy continued unrelentingly. "There's no way I could ever call that a bad thing, even if I wanted to. Especially since, thanks to you, she's less inclined to cut your heart out with a rusty scalpel now- much more approachable."

Kirk collapsed at the foot of his bed, sinking into the mattress. "Bones. Just- _stop_. Stop, okay? Please."

"Why?" McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Because I'm _right_? Or because you're scared of admitting that you actually feel something and that you're terrified of screwing it up?"

Kirk looked up at his roommate- the irritable yet unfailingly loyal, principled doctor he had met three years ago on the shuttle to San Francisco, and his friend from the moment he had rattled off the various disasters that they could experience in space travel before casually offering Kirk a swig from a flask filled with brandy.

"All of the above?" Kirk said softly.

McCoy seemed to deflate slightly with sympathy. "Ah, dammit, Jim…"

Kirk slumped back against his mattress in despair, his façade breaking apart like paper in water.

"You're right," he muttered in surrender. "I love her. I _love_ her, I'm actually… I _can't_ be, but I am. It just- sort of _happened_. I'm in love with her," he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, inhaling sharply. "_Augh_, I _hate_ this- I just, I can't help it. It's ridiculous, _stupid_-! You know, everyone seems to think she's this ice sculpture, but Valravn's so _real_, she's _human_, and she feels everything so strongly that she just _has_ to hold it back or it would be like an atomic bomb going off. And no one gets that she's insecure and flawed and yet determined to be better, harder, faster that she already is and that makes her so much stronger than any kind of combat skill could and I _see_ it and she's so, so _brilliant_, she's a damn _supernova_, and… and I _love_ her. How could I not? I _love_ her, Bones," Kirk repeated helplessly. Words were finally failing him; he didn't know how to explain how he felt- scared and certain over a girl with a heart full of napalm and bones of steel and eyes that caught constellations.

"She's killing me."

Kirk heard his roommate abandon his unpacking, sitting next to him with a sigh, patting his shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

Jim chuckled humourlessly, arms dropping to the mattress.

"I am so screwed."

"Yep."

"Well, gee, thanks, Bones," Kirk said sarcastically. "I just poured out my heart to you, the least you could do was _lie_ or something. Your bedside manner seriously sucks."

"Yeah, so I hear," McCoy said dryly, rising from the bed. "But, for the record- everyone in Starfleet knows that Raven could keep a secret even under Klingon torture, and I'm not just talking about classified ones about her work for HQ. For all we know, she could have been pining after you this whole time and is just a hell of a lot less obvious about it. You never know with that girl. I'd never play poker against her."

Jim bit out a bitter, cynical laugh. "Yeah. Right. Okay. Valravn Winter is in love with me, sure. Come on, Bones, seriously… what are the chances of that?"


	5. Chapter V: The Kobayashi Maru

_**A/N: **So I finished this one sooner than predicted. And, yes, we are finally into canon events- though I admit that I may have switched one up a bit, because I heard how it was supposed to happen in the Prime timeline and liked it too much not to use it._

_Also, can I get all gooey for a second and say how much I love you guys? Seriously. Every time I see a new alert or favourite or review, it makes me smile. This was far more successful than I ever thought it would be, and your support is kind of making me die of happiness right now._

_Oh, before I forget: some edits were made to the last chapter, if you read it when I first updated and didn't notice. An extra scene was added at the end, plus I asked the question of what you guys would think if I suggested increasing the rating and adding some Jim/Valravn smut. It's just a vague idea at the moment, but I'd like to hear your opinions._

_So, as ever- enjoy._

* * *

V  
_The Kobayashi Maru_

_May 2, 2258 – California, Earth_

"My life is _over_."

"That's just a _little_ hyperbolic, don't you think?"

Valravn concealed the instinctive flutter of panic with her standard dispassionate sarcasm, looking over the cadet who had collapsed in the seat before her dramatically- cheek resting atop the surface of the table she had claimed by the coffeehouse's front window, overlooking the city streets below- and furtively scanning him for any signs of injury- other than, as Valravn suspected, a case of melodrama or bruised ego. Once assured that he most likely wasn't dying of internal bleeding in his chair, Valravn relaxed, and signalled to her favourite waitress for his usual coffee order- adding, in the rudimentary Trill sign-language she had picked up over the months of patronage, for her to also bring a slice of treacle tart.

If James Kirk was depressed, the only medicine was treacle tart. It was a law of the physical universe- a certainty equal to energy equalling mass multiplied the speed of light squared.

"You don't understand, V," Kirk murmured, voice muffled and agonised. "I mean it. My life- is _over_."

"You look reasonably alive to me."

Kirk groaned pitifully in reply, and Valravn prodded his shoulder with her index finger.

"Alright, James. I have no idea what has made your usual sense of blind optimism crawl into a shallow grave but, whatever it is, I have the utmost faith that it is nothing you can't fight, circumvent or talk your way out of."

She paused, leaning back as the waitress set down a cup of coffee and a plate bearing a thick slab of tart, attended by a melting sphere of thick vanilla ice-cream. Once she had retreated to a safe distance, Valravn's hand slid over Kirk's shoulder again, head dipping in an attempt to catch his gaze.

Kirk finally raised his eyes to meet hers, despondent.

"James."

Jim straightened, pinching the bridge of his nose. Valravn retracted her hand and stripped off her jacket, draping it over the back of her chair, leaving her in the sleeveless black shirt underneath, and handed a slim silver fork to Kirk. He caught sight of the dessert in front of them and laughed wryly, twirling the fork between his fingers for a moment before sinking it into the tart. Valravn watched him, her hands lacing together and forming a bridge under her chin.

Taking a bite, Kirk said, "Okay… alright, but, first- how are things with Pike? You two still not talking? Or have you switched to doing that passive-aggressive thing that makes me want to kill myself whenever you do it to me?"

Valravn shot him a look that told him she knew precisely what he was doing, and that she was highly unimpressed. "No. The stalemate is officially broken. Chris called me into his office the other day. I was half-expecting a lecture, but he gave me a late birthday present instead."

"Oh?"

"Combat knife- triple-A quality tritanium, five-point-three inches, serrated near the hilt, black leather sheath embossed with silver. It's quite lovely, actually. Very tasteful."

Kirk's eyes lit up. "Does that mean what I think it does?"

"He will probably never say it, but I think he's secretly proud of me for standing my ground," Valravn said thoughtfully, playing with the charm hanging from her hair cuff. "Also, I suspect that he also had a revealing talk with someone specific."

"You know I didn't say anything, V," Kirk said, confused. "I promised I wouldn't."

"Wasn't talking about you." Valravn took a deep draught of lukewarm coffee, wondering how she was going to find a way to thank her tutor. "So, now that you are done with your pathetic attempt to distract me, perhaps we can focus on your problems. _Stars_, James-" Valravn reached over and, utterly at ease with what probably should have been an overly familiar move- but felt oddly, completely natural- carded her fingers through his hair, the strands threading through her knuckles. "Look at your hair. It's actually _less than perfect_."

Kirk batted her hand away good-naturedly. "Just because I have to put work into looking good- not all of us wake up looking like a supermodel every morning. And don't even deny it, I saw you at your worst during the road trip, so I know from experience."

"I usually woke up before you. I had the chance to make myself marginally presentable. Besides, you never saw me with my hair down." Valravn fingered the sleek onyx plait spilling over her shoulder, the length having grown out to coil against her lowest ribs. "I could look like Medusa out of this braid and you would never know the difference, Perseus."

"Hm, I do believe you're right," Jim hummed out faux-contemplatively, tapping his fork against his plate with a grin. "Maybe I should see it loose. Y'know, so that I can make a fair judgement with all empirical evidence accounted for."

"Mm, nice try," Valravn smirked. "What I look like with my hair down is a better kept secret than what I look like naked. Ah, now there's a novel thought for you. If you want to see it that badly, you could always find a way to sleep with me," she suggested playfully.

Kirk stabbed the slice of tart, scooping up a glob of ice-cream with it. "Someday, Valravn Winter," he vowed in a seductive tone, eyes darkening. "Make those jokes while you can; one day, I'll make good on all of your teasing."

Valravn had to look away in case he saw her pupils dilate in response; Kirk could be annoyingly observant sometimes. The fates must have been feeling particularly vindictive that day, however, as her gaze fell directly to his mouth instead, detecting a smear of treacle on his lower lip. Valravn caved and permitted herself a moment to fantasise about licking it away, having long since stopped trying to stem the intimately lustful thoughts towards her- _friend_? Could James Kirk even be called a _friend_ anymore? The connotations of the term seemed inadequate somehow, even with all romantic labels aside- but Valravn had the feeling that if she thought about it for longer than a few microseconds, the delicate equilibrium between them would be forever ruined.

"Yes, I'm sure you have some elaborate plan to make me swoon right into your arms." _Not that you need to._ "In the meantime, if you are not too busy implementing said futile plot: why have you been so stressed that you've running your fingers through your hair for the last- oh, hour or so?"

"_How_ did you-? Oh, never mind, you're _you_, of course you know how long I was-"

"_James_."

"Okay," Kirk sighed moodily, prodding his dessert with the prongs of his fork, suddenly devoid of appetite. "Alright, the truth is- I failed a simulation for the second time today."

Valravn physically felt her pulse spike in disbelief.

James Tiberius Kirk did _not_ fail simulations, not even when he was hung-over and operating on an hour's worth of sleep. He might score unnaturally low on the rarest of occasions, mostly because of the aforementioned factors, but he categorically did _not_ fail. Outraged, Valravn mentally sifted through all possible causes of such an anomaly, theorising intrinsic defects in the programming, deliberate sabotage, unfair parameters-

Then she realised.

"You took the _Kobayashi Maru_ twice?!"

"How in the _hell_-?! Right, of course, it's still you," Kirk muttered, raking his fingers through his already mussed hair. "The whole- _genius_ thing. Should be used to it by now. Yeah. I- retook it. And failed. Again. Just like everybody said I would."

Valravn leaned back in her seat, lungs deflating in a sigh, a fond smile breaking through the almost permanent frost of her expression.

"James Kirk- you are the bravest man I have ever met."

Jim jabbed his tart morosely. "Don't you mean the _stupidest_?"

"That was implied. _Stop_ that," she admonished, taking the wayward fork from between his fingers and stealing a bite of his dessert. Kirk looked unoffended, mostly because he regularly pilfered slices of blood orange from her at breakfast every morning. "I mean it, James. That was brave."

"Or insane."

"Strange how often those two seem to coincide," Valravn mused, popping another forkful of treacle filling into her mouth, and laying down the fork with a _chink_. "But you've never been afraid of a little public dissent. Or cared very much for people's opinions of you, so long as they recognise the things you want them to. So why are you so- depressed?"

"Because I _wanted_ to beat the damn test," Kirk snapped, glaring out of the window, jaw clenching in frustration. "I wanted to prove that it wasn't _unwinnable_. I wanted to prove that any situation, no matter how dark or hopeless, can have something truly _good_ come out of it. And I wanted to do it _myself_."

Valravn was silent, considering his irritable outburst without personal affront.

"_Something truly good can come out of any situation, no matter how dark or hopeless_. Spoken like a true captain."

Jim looked up, a shimmer of an apology in his eyes.

"V- I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Don't apologise. You never have to apologise to me, James," Valravn cut him off coolly, resting her elbows atop the table and propping her chin against the heels of her hands. "You want to prove that no situation is unwinnable? Fine. What do you need?"

Kirk searched her eyes disbelievingly. "You're going to help me," he said, flatly sceptical.

"Of course. _Every great captain needs an equally great crew, or they are nothing._ It wasn't me who said that." She laced her fingers together, crossing her legs in a single fluid motion, a smile creeping across her mouth. "I think you're right. No-win situations do not exist. The _Kobayashi Maru_ needs to be beaten. Tell me what you need from me, no questions asked, and I will do it- _Captain_."

"You're serious, aren't you," Jim breathed, incredulous.

"Deadly."

"Are you sure about this, V?"

"What, you don't think I'm capable of helping you come up with a solution? You're James Kirk, in all your irritatingly effortless brilliance, and equipped with nerves of steel," she said with a dismissive, flourishing flick of her wrist, "and you just called me a genius not two minutes ago."

"You _are_ a genius."

"So are you." Valravn pointed out, indignant on his behalf.

Kirk scoffed slightly, smiling affectionately. "Maybe. But not like you."

"It is different and you know it," she said, hardening.

"How is it any different?"

"Because I am the _executioner_," Valravn said tonelessly, "the one-woman army, the one they draft in to demolish the enemy. Don't be naïve, James. I deal in death. I'm good at killing, at exploiting every weakness I can find to my advantage without hesitation and in the most efficient way possible, and I _enjoy_ it. You- _you_ lead, and you're good at it once you put your ego aside. You are the one who resolves conflict with minimal bloodshed, the one who hates the loss of even a single life, the one who remains pragmatic but makes the moral judgement and finds another way when all of the other options don't satisfy. You are the one inspires loyalty and trust, because you are intelligent and insightful and compassionate and decisive- and not nearly as much of a self-serving glory-seeking jerk as you like to pretend you are. You are made to be burdened with purpose. Made to preserve life." Valravn looked out of the window, hollowly. "I am made to take it away."

She could feel Kirk watching her intently. She could tell that her words had disturbed him, realising that the darkness that had leaked through ran in a deep vein underneath.

"You're wrong," Jim said, suddenly and irrefutably firm. "Don't talk as if you're just a mindless murderer, Valravn, because you're anything but- okay? A sword can be a shield if you use it right. And every leader needs a champion. If I had to choose, it would be you every time."

Valravn didn't reply, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes.

"So," Kirk's eyes turned to blue steel, and Valravn saw a glimpse of a man worthy of the title she had called him. Picking up the fork, breaking off another bite of the tart and holding it aloft, he offered it out to Valravn. Smiling against her will, she leaned forwards, lips wrapping around the fork at the same moment he spoke. "You said _anything_, right?"

Valravn hitched an eyebrow, short-pastry crumbling and treacle melting on her tongue.

* * *

_May 10, 2258 – Xihe Block, Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

"Jim- I think I love you."

There was only one person Kirk wanted to hear those words from- the chances of which were beyond low, except in the deepest combs of his imagination- and it was not the gorgeous, half-naked green-skinned cadet currently writhing beneath his ministrations. In fact, during the entire encounter he had been thanking all good fortune that the powerful sex pheromones exuded by the females of her species were strong enough to mask the fact that, the entire time, he was thinking of the dark-haired young woman currently keeping the aforementioned Orion's roommate busy in the long-range transmissions sensor lab. Jim was beginning to think that it was a good thing that his own roommate wasn't psychic; if McCoy ever found out what was going on inside his head, he would never hear the end of it.

At her words, Kirk leaned back from Gaila's heaving body, staring down at her face, half-concealed in the shadows cast by the room, still gasping for breath.

"That is so weird," he said breathlessly.

The moment he heard the words aloud, he mentally kicked himself.

"Lights," Gaila commanded tonelessly. She squirmed upwards and Kirk climbed off her, the bed a mess of parchment-coloured sheets in the newly illuminated room. "Did you just say _that is so weird_?"

"Yeah, I did," Jim began quickly, "but I-"

"You don't love me too?" Gaila teased, her hair a coppery cloud of tight, springing curls about her head like a devilish halo.

Kirk knew that she was attempting to manipulate him- it came naturally, almost subconsciously, to Orion females, the art of seduction and keeping sexual partners under control- and he knew that Gaila had been hunting him for a while as a golden notch in her bedpost. Still, Kirk liked her enough to want to protect her feelings, operating on the slim but real possibility that her words held a sliver of authenticity.

Some part of himself quietly informed him that falling in love with Valravn Winter had ruined him.

Before he had the chance to formulate an adequate reply, there was a soft hiss of the door sliding open. Gaila's expression descended into panic.

"Oh my god, that's my roommate."

"What? I thought you said she was gone for the night."

_Then again, V did say she could only guarantee me an hour or two, and she's already given me_ four_…_

"Well, obviously, she's not," Gaila hissed, slapping his naked shoulder frantically. "Quick- you got to just- get under the bed!"

"_What_?!" With a quiet groan of exasperation, Kirk grudgingly rolled off and stood the opposite side of Gaila's bed, warmth evaporating off his skin. "Under the- _why_?"

"She can't see you here!"

"Why not?"

Gaila's expression turned slightly guilty, biting her ochre lips.

"Because- I promised her I'd stop bringing guys back to the dorm," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

Jim suddenly frowned, processing this new information. "Wait- how- how many guys have you-?"

"_Shh_\- just- get _down_-!"

Rolling his eyes, Kirk dropped to the floor, landing hard, and slid under the bed, the rust-coloured carpet scraping against his bare sweat-slickened skin as he heard Gaila shift into what she no doubt thought was a nonchalant pose on the mattress above him. "Hey," she greeted the newcomers in an instinctively sultry tone, sweet as dried apricot.

From behind stacks of colourful high heels, cut-glass perfume bottles and various storage boxes, Kirk saw two pairs of black leather boots walk into view- one with a thick wedge heel and possessing a naturally elegant gait he would recognise anywhere. "Hey," a slightly weary voice replied, its owner collapsing on the bed opposite, dropping their backpack and unzipping their boots, revealing a slice of bare skin the colour of cocoa. The other remained standing, tossing two PADDs and a jacket onto the bedspread.

_Valravn_. She was always in motion, like water, even if it seemed otherwise- a flex of her ankle, circling the pad of her thumb against the outer knuckle of her index finger absently, the subtle deepening of the curve in her shape created by a shift of her spine and hips and shoulders- every gesture constant and slight and fluent, like the moon in orbit, waxing and waning each night.

Then the water became ice and she _struck_ like metal and crystallised light, toxic and beautiful.

_God_, he loved her.

"How are you?"

"Good. The strangest thing, though," Uhura's voice intoned thoughtfully. "We were in the long range sensor lab."

"Yeah, I thought all night."

_Subtle, Gaila,_ Kirk thought sarcastically. _Real subtle._

"I was supposed to be, I was tracking solar systems, and- I picked up an emergency transmission."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Uhura continued, stripping off her red sweater and rising to toss it aside. "From the Klingon prison planet."

"_No_…" Gaila said in a weak imitation of surprise and interest.

The oblivious xenolinguistics specialist unzipped her skirt and slid it off, letting it drop to the floor. Jim eyed her long legs vaguely before returning his gaze to Valravn, who had sank down onto Uhura's bed, one boot crossed behind the opposite ankle, shifting to rub the leather toe against the back of her heel absently.

"A Klingon armada was destroyed- forty-seven ships. I mean- the odds of detecting a transmission, even on an emergency wavelength, without the right equipment are slim anyway. But the message itself… it's pretty crazy, right? Well, Raven, you're the combat expert here. Is that crazy?"

"What, you mean forty-seven fully armed Klingon ships destroyed by a single rogue vessel? I would say that qualifies as relatively crazy, yes," Valravn replied, tone warmed by a hint of amusement. "You have to wonder what kind of ship has that much raw firepower. I would kill to get my hands on it- or something like it."

"Raven, you're so militaristic," Uhura scolded, punctuated by a gentle scoff.

"Haven't you ever heard of the saying, _if the enemy is in range, so are you_?" Valravn replied, without enmity. "If you can figure out how a weapon works, you can defend against it. Excuse my intellectual curiosity. I thought that was what Starfleet was established for, aside from keeping galactic peace- which, by the way, a starship that cheerfully kicks a Klingon armada into touch does not exactly sound _conducive_ towards."

"So," Gaila interrupted impatiently, "you guys aren't going back to the lab tonight? Grabbing something to eat in town…?"

Kirk winced from his hiding place. _And the prize for most obvious cover-up ever goes to-_

"James, get out from under the bed," Valravn said in a profoundly bored tone.

Kirk emerged, not in the least abashed by his state of undress. "How'd you know it was me?" He asked with a boyish grin.

"_You_!" Uhura exploded accusatorially, her dark eyes filling with fire. Kirk couldn't be too affected by Uhura's anger- he was too busy enjoying the fact that Valravn was taking in the sight of his chest, tracing over defined muscles appreciatively. That alone made whatever consequences of getting caught entirely worth it.

"Big day tomorrow," he said lightly, gathering up his clothes. "See you in the simulation, V? You're still my second officer, right? I know you don't do tactical usually, but it'll be good practice, security usually gets thrown into positions like that in an emergency. And, Uhura, they put you on comms, right-?"

"You're going to _fail_," Uhura declared with venom, hurling his jacket at him, standing in front of the younger woman pointedly, shielding her from Kirk. Valravn rolled her eyes from behind Uhura's left shoulder.

"_Gaila, see you around_," Jim said in perfect Orion Prime, watching the female in question smile at him salaciously before he turned back to the dark-haired girl still screened from him by a seething Uhura, switching smoothly to a beautiful dialect of French that he knew Valravn happened to have learned. "_Seriously, how did you-?_"

"_I know your aftershave,_" Valravn replied without missing a beat. "_Now put your clothes on, my darling, before Uhura throws something._"

It was a lie, but it made Kirk smirk delightedly nevertheless. "_Really? I'm flattered that you pay so much attention to me- sweetheart._"

"_Out_!" Uhura snarled in Federation English, able to at least catch the gist of their conversation.

Kirk backed away towards the door. "Hey, if I pass, will you tell me your first name?"

"_No_," she said sharply. "Goodnight!"

Catching sight of Valravn from behind the honeycomb partition- holding back laughter at his antics, her skin almost glowing, contrasting exotically with the ink-black hair twisted back from her face and complimented by uncanny blue eyes- Kirk couldn't resist pitching one last playful jab at Uhura.

"I think the fact that you picked up a transmission is _very_ interest-"

Uhura smiled sarcastically, and the door slid closed in his face.

Ten minutes later, sweat cooling on his skin still, but fully dressed and heading back to the Apollo Block with a triumphant lilt to his step, Kirk received a message on his communicator.

_You know you just make her  
hate you more, right? Though  
I think you might be growing  
on her. A little.  
She's reaming out Gaila as I'm  
typing this. Any second, big sis  
Uhura will start on me. Did you  
at least get what you needed?_

_VW_

Jim smiled and replied quickly, working by the solar-powered lights dotted along the path.

_All systems go, babydoll. Oh-  
BTW. Aftershave?_

_JTK_

A response came through just as he passed the main lecture hall, the alert chiming.

_What, I'm _babydoll_ now? Was  
_sweetheart_ not enough? And  
yes, I wasn't lying. I actually  
do know your aftershave-  
chérie._

_VW_

* * *

_May 11, 2258 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

"We are receiving a distress signal from the U.S.S. _Kobayashi Maru_. The ship has lost power and is stranded. Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them."

Valravn had never realised that it was possible to sound simultaneously resentful, saccharine sweet and vaguely condescending before that moment. Frankly, she was a little envious.

Kirk swivelled in the high-backed command chair smoothly. "Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them… _Captain_."

Uhura scowled and turned back to her console, the exact moment that the expected emergency sirens started blaring through the simulation bridge.

"Two Klingon vessels have entered the neutral zone," McCoy, who had somehow been corralled into being Jim's executive officer for the test, announced dully, "and they're locking weapons on us."

There was a quiet flurry of motion throughout the room, the atmosphere shifting; some cadets, less experienced than the fourth-years playing the role of senior officers, looked panicked or confused by the sudden hostilities. Valravn, by comparison, did not even flinch. Her fingers were at her console, following protocol and implementing all of the expected security measures, her thoughts drifting in the banal direction how uncomfortable she felt in the ill-fitting slate-grey uniform that the cadets were required to wear for the simulation, even as she ordered for non-existent security teams to lock down the cargo bay. Granted, she preferred the colour to her usual red, but it was far too thick to be comfortable, at least by her standards. She would choose form-fitting over warmth in almost any situation.

Through her idle musings, she heard Kirk say cheerfully in response to his 'first officer', "That's okay."

Valravn arched an eyebrow. She knew he was cheating the simulation- though he hadn't told her how, exactly- but he didn't need to be so utterly _blatant_ about it. Although, as reactions went, she was sure that Kirk got points from the test administrators for originality.

"_That's okay_?" McCoy echoed, voicing the unspoken disbelief of their fellow cadets, and no doubt the examiners and technicians watching from the monitoring chamber above. Valravn glanced up at the viewing windows, and quietly envied their sleek, lightweight, jet-black uniforms.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," Jim said lightly, smiling, before casually whistling a few bars of classical music- from the third movement of Sergei Rachmaninoff's second piano concerto, no less.

The action and his overall demeanour earned him a plethora of bewildered looks from his 'crew', an exasperated roll of the eyes from his 'first officer', and invisible chills of delight running down Valravn's spine. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, glaring at him out of the corner of her eye.

He was doing that deliberately.

"Three more Klingon warbirds de-cloaking and targeting our ship," McCoy reported, outright glaring at his friend. Valravn caught sight of Uhura staring at Kirk with growing suspicion. "I don't suppose this is a problem either."

"They're firing on us, Captain," Valravn spoke up.

"Alert medical bay to prepare to receive all crew members from the damaged ship," Kirk said, almost offhandedly, over his shoulder to Uhura.

Uhura bristled. "And how do you expect us to rescue them when we're surrounded by Klingons- _Captain_?" She added his temporary title, not without virulence.

Jim swivelled towards Uhura with a flat smile, his blue eyes suddenly hard as topaz.

"_Alert medical_," he ordered, almost warningly.

The 'communication's officer's' resultant compliant jab at her touch screen was nothing short of irked.

"Our ship is being hit. Shields at sixty per cent." McCoy said with increasing resignation, a siren now screaming the emergency state, the hawkish silhouettes of the Klingon ships swooping at the 'viewing screen'. Valravn moved quickly at her console, litigating for the damage where she could and silently urging Kirk to put his plan into action before it was too late.

"I understand."

"Well, should we- oh, I don't know- _fire back_?" McCoy inquired testily, frustration mounting.

Kirk extracted an apple from his pocket, holding it between his thumb and forefinger for a moment, feigning deep thought. "No," he said eventually, sinking his teeth into the fruit with a crunch.

Valravn supressed the urge to clamp a despairing hand over her eyes. _Why did I have to fall in love with such a showboating _prick_?_

"Of course not-" The medical cadet muttered, just as every single screens of the replica command deck suddenly whined and flickered, as though the power had been cut.

Valravn stared at her station, watching it fizzle and hiss with static, her outward reaction no more than a single blink of confusion. Instrumentation veered wildly from extreme to extreme, the display figures climbing and falling rapidly, alert audio warped and cut out, crucial information streaming through to each console was dammed- and as quickly as it had started, it was over. The 'crew' stared at their terminals in confusion as they rebooted, powering back to life.

Jim hummed thoughtfully, rolling his apple between his fingers. "Hail the Klingon vessels. Tell them that they are facing Captain James Tiberius Kirk and that they are hereby ordered to cease all hostilities. Arm photons and prepare to fire on all Klingon warbirds that do not give an immediate and unconditional surrender."

Uhura, too bemused by the bizarre order to disobey it, turned back to her functioning console. Valravn followed suit. "Yes, sir," she said serenely, restraining a sigh and hoping against all evidence to the contrary that he knew what he was doing.

"_Jim_," Kirk's elected first officer spoke up. "Their shields are still up."

"Are they?" Kirk said innocently, taking another bite of his apple.

McCoy turned back to his terminal, his expression shifting from annoyed to astounded. "No," he said incredulously. "They're _not_-"

"Uh- four of the five Klingon warbirds are offering unconditional surrender. They are currently powering down their weapons and shields," Uhura announced, openly astounded.

"And the fifth?" Jim prompted.

McCoy blinked at his screen, glancing over his shoulder at Kirk. "Has weapons locked on the _Kobayashi Maru_. And its shields are up and fully operational."

"Fire on the remaining hostile ship," Kirk commanded Valravn sharply. "A few good blasts should do, try not to waste too much ammunition."

"Aye, Captain," Valravn replied, crushing a bubble of laughter, tapping at the terminal screen before her deftly. With their steady position, no other hostiles and a few swift, concentrated hits on the same area, neutralisation of the enemy would be a breeze. "Target locked and acquired on remaining hostile warbird. Firing."

Each and every cadet on the bridge watched, incredulously, as a barrage of shots coasted towards the one Klingon warbird that had refused to surrender, blasting it into debris. Kirk grinned, slouched stylishly in the command chair as though he owned it.

"Hostile ship destroyed, Captain." Valravn informed him smoothly.

"Contact Starfleet Command in request for backup to handle the surrendered Klingons and begin rescue of the stranded crew," Kirk ordered in a flurry of words. "_So_," he said, rising suddenly, "we've managed to neutralise all hostile ships, no one on board was injured- _and_… the successful rescue of the _Kobayashi Maru_ crew is underway."

He stopped and beamed up at the observation rooms above, taking another hearty bite of his apple- golden and full of hubris, like some ancient Greek hero who had just slaughtered a monster that had been terrorising Athens. Valravn covered her mouth, certain that if she didn't, she would start laughing aloud. He was awful- but that was _brilliant_.


	6. Chapter VI: Hand of Fate

_**A/N: **So, yet another I've churned out. The usual editing rules apply- I'll tweak it as I go, much like the previous chapters. And this note is mostly terse because it's two AM, and I have college and a Chemistry end of unit test in the morning._

_We are firmly in the movie right now. The beginning may be a little slow going as I figure out how to structure it- it may take us another chapter to get us to Vulcan. But- yeah. So, as always- enjoy._

* * *

VI  
_Hand of Fate_

_May 14, 2258 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

"This session has been called to resolve a troubling matter. James T. Kirk, step forward."

It was upon occasions like this that the pragmatic side of Kirk was infinitely glad that he was friends with Valravn Winter. He knew that he was capable of, quite literally, charming the clothes off almost anyone he chose, but when it came to the graces of politics and professional negotiation, he was still refining his natural skills, repurposing them piece by piece.

Valravn, on the other hand, had something about her that made Kirk understand why Pike had once wanted her to go into command. Valravn said that Kirk inspired loyalty, but Valravn unconsciously commanded unquestioning respect; there was something about the way she spoke, the way she held herself, the way she knew the power of a wordless gesture or subtle shift in expression that translated into innate imperious authority, ice and silk. To her, it was just another version of combat she had mastered, a weapon in her arsenal, honed to a point.

Therefore, when his name was called by Admiral Barnett in front of the assembly, he didn't panic. Kirk knew that to get out of the pitfall he had slipped into, the one he knew he was risking ever since he had decided to take on the _Kobayashi Maru_ for the third time, he simply needed to think like Valravn- though, admittedly, she probably never would have gotten herself into this mess in the first place. Rising from his seat, ignoring McCoy's mutterings about how Kirk had _gone and got yourself in trouble with the board,_ _all to impress a girl_\- which was definitely _not_ true, or at least not entirely; the thing with the Klingons surrendering to him after hearing his name had been, yes, just because he could, and because he damn well planned on having a galactic reputation once he was captain, but the rest was for himself- Kirk stepped out of his row and onto the channel of steps to his left, forcing himself to remain unperturbed the curious, probing gazes of his fellow cadets and the stares of the formidable panel arranged before him. His eyes scanned the stark white marble of the amphitheatre steps, filled with red uniforms like a basin of blood, for a familiar figure. He didn't have to search long; Valravn was seated between a highly unimpressed Uhura and a dark-haired cadet he identified as her friend Hai. Her eyes met his, drawn up like a compass needle to the north, cool and impassive yet betraying a flicker of panic.

As best he could, Kirk telegraphed a single message in a single stare: _say nothing. You were not involved._

Splintered blue replied, brittle and frustrated. Jim knew, if he knew Valravn half as well as he thought he did, that her sense of honour wanted her to stand up and take her place alongside him, and to hell with the consequences. But he had made her promise not to speak of her involvement, no matter how slight it had been, and Valravn was powerless to do anything unless she was brought into this trial by his testimony- something he had carefully planned from the beginning.

She smoothed her sleeves out, and blinked once, deliberately.

_Fine. But I don't like this._

Jim inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement, and descended to the podium awaiting him. As he turned to face the panel- high, white leather seats arranged behind a crescent of polished honey-coloured wood, set with a number of black plaques- he saw Pike watching his niece from his seat carefully. Kirk had no doubt that Valravn's expression was perfectly blank.

"Cadet Kirk, evidence has been submitted to this council suggesting that you violated the Ethical Code of Conduct pursuant to regulation 17.43 of the Starfleet Code." The commandant observed him grimly, implying the seriousness of the matter, but with an undeniably impartial eye. "Is there anything you care to say before we begin?"

"Yes," Kirk said, his mind working quickly. He couldn't fight an enemy he couldn't see- therefore he couldn't counter an argument that he hadn't heard. "I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly."

Admiral Barnett nodded slightly, his gaze skimming past Kirk to a seat on the lower tier of the steps. Jim glanced over his shoulder just in time to see a figure dressed in the charcoal uniform of the tutors rise from his seat, straightening his jacket. Kirk registered the stature, the mathematically symmetrical cut of his hair, ears curving into a distinct point at the tips- humanoid, but not human.

"Step forward, please," the admiral requested. "This is Commander Spock. He is one of our most distinguished graduates." Kirk admitted that the name struck a faint chord of familiarity within him, though he couldn't place where he had heard it before. "He has programmed the _Kobayashi Maru_ exam for the last four years."

Jim glanced across at him and found the newcomer staring back emotionlessly.

The opponents took each other in silently, in a moment that crackled with intensity.

"Commander," Barnett prompted.

"Cadet Kirk, you somehow managed to install and activate a subroutine in the programming code, thereby changing the conditions of the test."

"Your point being?" Kirk said nonchalantly, silently wondering how they had worked it out so quickly.

Catching a flash of vivid green flesh on his periphery, contained within a red cadet uniform, a halo of copper curls and rather tense posture, he realised _precisely_ how.

"In academic vernacular- you cheated," the admiral said pointedly.

A rustle of motion passed throughout the hall, like a breeze passing through the trees, murmuring and dying away. Kirk sealed them out of his awareness. "Let me ask you something that I think we all know the answer to," he said, directing his words at the commander. "The test itself is a cheat, isn't it? You programmed it to be unwinnable."

Commander Spock faced directly forwards, his composure rivalling Valravn's.

"Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario."

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe in no-win scenarios."

"Then not only did you violate the rules," the commander continued, "you also failed to understand the principle lesson."

"Please," Kirk said, forcing the vitriol he was feeling down, "enlighten me."

Spock raised a perfectly straight eyebrow, his head canting to one side subtly. "You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk: a captain cannot cheat death."

The assembly gave another low murmur, this time its mood indistinct, but Jim could barely hear them.

_A captain cannot cheat death_.

A simmer of rage boiled hot in his stomach, and he had to look away, smiling without humour. "I of all people," he repeated hollowly, his voice low.

"Your father," the commander continued without halt, or overt malice, "Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?"

Kirk smiled coldly, trying to remember the last time he had felt the kind of raw fury building inside him, outraged that his opponent had _dared_ to bring such a thing up. "I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test-"

"Furthermore, you have failed to divine the purpose of the test."

"Enlighten me again," Kirk said, his voice dangerously steady, a flame licking its way up into his chest cavity, searing at the flesh of his throat.

"The purpose is to experience fear," Spock said smoothly. "Fear in the face of certain death; to accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. This is a quality expected in every Starfleet captain."

Kirk closed his eyes briefly, burning with the threat of an emotion he had not felt since he was eleven years old, feeling the gazes of a hundred fellow cadets on his back. He wished he could filter them down to just one- the one who he liked to imagine wanted to rip the commander's throat out for him.

The thought made him draw in a deep breath, remembering her words when they had discussed the _Kobayashi Maru_, what had made her agree with him so readily.

"Well," he spoke into the deafening silence, "it seems not only have _I_ failed to understand the purpose of the test, you have failed to realise the motivations behind my actions."

Kirk was annoyed when Spock betrayed no trace of emotion in his answer. "By all means, Cadet Kirk, enlighten me."

The perfect monotone, unshaken and indifferent, spurred Jim onwards furiously.

"My actions were intended to demonstrate that a no-win scenario is as absurd as a flawless victory," he said, internally apologising to Valravn for stealing her words and blending them with his own; he was certain that she would forgive him for the theft, considering his situation. "If the _Kobayashi Maru_ is intended to test cadets' capability under conditions of high pressure, there is no reason not to include possible fulfilment of the mission objective- at _least_ in part- especially if actions taken by those being tested indicate that result to be a strong possibility in a real life situation. Furthermore: if, as you say, the test is intended to force cadets to experience fear in a life-or-death situation- it fails."

A quiet tensing of the gathering followed his words. Spock stared back, a single brow hitching again. Subtle as it was, Kirk could tell that he had struck a nerve.

Unrepentant, and knowing that he now commanded the attention of the entire room, Kirk continued. "Accepted psychology states that the only way to simulate an authentic reaction in the face of the possibility of death would be to make those being tested believe that there _is_ a real possibility of death. However, as everyone going into the simulation is aware that it is a simulation, and _just_ a simulation, your premise of _fear in the face of certain death_ collapses entirely. And then," Jim drew himself up to his full height, fearlessly, "there's the matter of the _no-win _situation. The universe does not work in simple, binary black and white scenarios of _success_ or _failure_. There are always shades of grey. I agree that an overall loss is sometimes inevitable, but as for your comment that _a captain cannot cheat death_? I am living proof that you might want to reconsider that assessment. And I know at least eight hundred souls who would agree with me."

A soft gasp and flutter of understanding whispers seethed up from the seats behind him- and Kirk was incredibly pleased to hear that they all sounded supportive.

Jim turned to address the board. "As I said: the point of my actions is that thinking outside the box of _possibility_ is the job of a captain, especially when the safety of their crew and allies are in immediate peril- and to reiterate that _something_ can always be protected or gained in a seemingly doomed- or _no_-_win_ situation."

Spock, a few feet away, was inscrutable. Those on the board conversed with each other inaudibly, and Jim caught the eye of his mentor: Pike looked deliberately disapproving, a sight that told Kirk that, at the very least, he was going to receive a lengthy re-education on ethical conduct from the captain later. However, he also detected a hint of grudging pride at the corner of Pike's mouth.

Kirk relaxed slightly. At that very moment, Pike glanced up at the seats behind Kirk, and back to his protégé. Jim knew exactly who he had been looking at, and heard the wordless message loud and clear.

_Damn. He knows._

Kirk waved the thought away. For now, he would take what he could get, and think of a way to convince Pike that his niece was not involved with his stunt later- and for now that looked like he was off the hook.

The admiral turned away from discussing the matter with the neighbouring members of the panel, lifting his head to address the commander when a streak of charcoal darted towards him from the edge of the theatre.

"Excuse me, sir…"

The officer delivered the PADD in his grasp to the admiral, who took it with a nod. Opening the apparently urgent correspondence with a beep, he paused stiffly, and looked up at the confused, expectant faces of the cadets.

"We've received a distress signal call from Vulcan."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw Commander Spock's attention sharpen. Suddenly, the emotionless demeanour and pointed ears made sense. _Vulcan. Of course._

"With our primary fleet engaged in the Laurentian System, I hereby order all cadets to report to Hangar One immediately. _Dismissed_!"

The cadets rose in a single, cacophonous cloud of heavy boots and voices and began to exit hastily, the implications hanging heavy in the air. Kirk watched his rival leave swiftly, ahead of everyone else.

Suddenly, he felt a presence at his shoulder. Jim glanced around and saw McCoy stood just behind him, the edges of his expression hinting at sympathy.

"Who was that pointy-eared bastard?" Kirk couldn't help but mutter bitterly.

"I don't know," the doctor shrugged in response, "but I like him."

Kirk was about to shove his current thoughts to the back of his mind for later examination and follow McCoy out to the hangar, when he saw a familiar figure in crimson breaking away from the masses, walking purposefully in their direction- all long legs and hips and crisp lines of her tailored jacket.

Jim took a moment to appreciate the fact that the weather was warm enough to force her to switch to the skirt version of the cadet uniform.

"I'll, uh- I'll catch up to you, Bones," Kirk said vaguely.

Following the general direction of his gaze and catching sight of Valravn, McCoy rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"Of course you will. I'll see you in a few minutes."

Valravn reached Kirk just as McCoy strode out of earshot. "Hey," she breathed, stopping just short of colliding with Jim's chest, a sardonic smile glittering deep in her eyes. "You know, you almost spoke like a captain up there."

Jim returned the look slyly. "Well. A captain is nothing without his crew," he replied silkily, earning a slight transference of the smile in her eyes down to her mouth, taking it as unspoken forgiveness.

"He shouldn't have said that," Valravn said suddenly, her eyes sliding over his shoulder, a glimmer of quiet anger touching her features. "He shouldn't have bought up your father out of nowhere. The commander embraces his Vulcan heritage to the fullest extent he can, but he's far from heartless."

"You know him?" Kirk asked, surprised.

"Spock? Of course. He's my personal tutor. Haven't I mentioned him before?"

"Ah, _that's_ where I know the name. Right. Look- don't worry about it, V, I think the council was on my side by the end of it, so," Kirk shrugged, sighing. Valravn looked mildly uncomfortable, and Kirk instantly recognised the look, and groaned softly. "Tell me you're not blaming yourself."

"I was involved," Valravn pointed out, her arms wrapped around herself defensively. "I knew from the start that you were going to- ah- subvert the normal parameters of the test-"

"_Subvert the normal parameters of the test_," Kirk repeated, smiling thoughtfully. "Damn, should have used that. Excellent line."

"James, can you be serious for _ten seconds_? Please. Even if all I did was keep Uhura busy for a few hours- and, well, let slip that Orion females have a tendency to talk in their sleep- I still knew what you were going to do. I should have stopped you." She bit her lip, eyes flickering. "_Should_ I have stopped you?"

Kirk gazed at her in disbelief. Glancing around them surreptitiously, he noted that the hall was rapidly draining, a third of the cadets having already left and the rest paying no attention to them. Wordlessly, he slipped his fingers around her slender ones, warming her perpetually cool skin.

"Valravn. Nobody could have stopped me, not even you. And that is saying something." He lifted her hand to his mouth, and kissed the back of her knuckles lightly. "But thank you," he said softly, "for what you did." He chanced a gentle smile.

Valravn inhaled sharply, and sighed, her tension dissolving reluctantly as she tugged her hand away from him. "You're welcome- _idiot_."

Kirk grinned. "So. Emergency relief mission before official graduation. Fun. I'll see you on the _Enterprise_?"

"How do you know that I am going to be assigned to the _Enterprise_?" Valravn said, her mouth quirking upwards. Then, almost as an afterthought, "How do you know that _you _are going to be assigned to the _Enterprise_?"

"Please, we're _both_ getting assigned to the _Enterprise_," he said confidently, lifting his hand to deftly sweep a lock of hair behind the shell of her ear with his finger.

Valravn smothered a smile, her cheek turning into his touch imperceptibly and setting off a tiny spark of triumph in Jim's chest.

"If you say so. I will see you on board, then."

"Do I get a kiss for luck?"

"You are _incorrigible_, you know that?"

"Oh, sweetheart, you have _no_-"

"_Raven_! Come on, we have to go."

Valravn turned at the sound of Uhura's voice, and Kirk reluctantly released her fingers. With one last shadow of a smile in his direction and a snap of her braid, Valravn melted from his sight.

By the time he got to the door, McCoy was waiting for him impatiently, smirking regardless of how long he had been kept waiting.

"Had your moment with your girlfriend?"

Jim glowered at his friend. "She's not my-"

"Sure she's not, Jim. Come on- the admiral didn't say _immediately_ because he wanted us to drag our asses all the way to Vulcan."

* * *

_May 14, 2258 – Hangar 1, Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

"Are you nervous?"

Valravn glanced at Uhura, the two of them walking briskly down one of many passageways to the nearby bustling space shuttle hangar, pressed in on all sides by fellow cadets. Uhura's profile was mahogany and proud, hair swooped up in its usual sleek ponytail and swishing behind her like a battle standard. "No," Valravn answered honestly, smooth and light as silk, tucking a loose lock of hair back into the weave of her French braid neatly.

"It's okay to be nervous, Raven."

"I know. Thank you. It's just irrelevant advice, since I'm not nervous."

"Okay. I'm just saying that it's okay to be."

Valravn lifted an eyebrow.

"Are you nervous, Nyota?"

"No, of course not," the xenolinguist said, the fan of her mascara-enhanced lashes casting long shadows across her cheekbones under the bright overhead lights. "This is what we've been working for, it's what we're going to be doing in a few months' time. Of course I'm not nervous. That would be- what would you say? Counterintuitive?"

Valravn looked away, unimpressed by the quality of the lie, and slipped her hand into Uhura's. The older cadet was quick to grip her hand in return.

"Something like that."

The moment they entered the hangar, their hands parted in a mutual display of professionalism. There was something about stepping onto the floor of the bustling spaceport that was enough to make each and every cadet forcibly aware that they were, at least for the interim, no longer in training, but graduates of Starfleet and licenced officers of the fleet. The facility was comprised of a vast floor space- cold steel panels that reflected the world surrounding it like still water- below high, barrelled pitch-black ceilings studded with glaring white beacon floodlights; immaculate rows of ice-white taxi space shuttles, walled with windows of green glass, capacity of a hundred and fifty each, awaited them, hydraulics hissing as they prepared for launch, cargo being loaded into near identical freight vehicles. What looked like chaos to a civilian's eyes was synchronised efficiency to Starfleet, all of the components constantly moving, like clockwork. Uhura and Valravn followed the current to the commander bearing their class number on a translucent data sheet, and waited impatiently for the rest of their group to fill the hollow space.

The moment Gaila slid into place in front of them, vibrating with excitement, the statuesque woman dressed in charcoal before them began.

"I will call out your last name, followed the starship you have been assigned to," she said without preamble, her strong voice rising sharply above the clatter of machinery and urgent orders filling the hangar. "Report to one of the transfer shuttles assigned to your ship immediately after the final name has been called. You will be directed to your specialism's area of general assembly for uniforms and assignment once aboard, unless given further instruction upon boarding your shuttle, for your individual assignment." She lifted another, bulkier data PADD. "Aiex, U.S.S. _Odyssey_. Arron, U.S.S. _Hood_. Bedford, U.S.S. _Defiant_. D'Nel, U.S.S _Endeavour_. Faulkner…"

Valravn waited, pulse rising in burning anticipation, quietly cursing that her surname had to start with a letter tucked at the far end of the Latinised alphabet.

"Uhura, U.S.S. _Farragut_."

Faster than should have been biochemically possible given the normal firing speed of an average human's neural synapses, Valravn switched the target of her silent cursing to Commander Spock's paranoia about showing favouritism towards Uhura. Her friend belonged on the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, and everyone at Starfleet would know it at a glance at her credentials. Leaving her off the ship, as he patently had, made it _more_ obvious that there was some kind of meaningful emotional attachment between them, not _less_-

"Winter, U.S.S. _Enterprise_."

Her attention cut out, and her heart skipped a beat.

_Enterprise_.

U.S.S. _Enterprise_, NCC-1701.

Valravn remembered the evening she had first seen that starship, four years ago, on a single night in Storm Lake, Iowa, barely a week before she had begun her first year at Starfleet Academy. She remembered the colossal skeletal frame, freshly forged titanium-alloy steel cast into a design for optimum performance and resilience, floodlit underneath curving midnight skies, silhouetted darkly against the backdrop of pure outer-space, suspended within her scaffold as though in stasis. She remembered the bursts of orange and flame-blue sparks dripping and cascading down her flank, setting the steel shell flickering with cold reflected fire. She remembered shivering on the dust plains, arms wrapped around herself and gripping her shoulders, unable to tear her gaze away.

The memory is so sharp that Valravn was almost surprised when she exhaled, and the breath finally released from her lungs didn't emerge in a crystallised plume of white frost against the air.

The _Enterprise_. She had gotten the _Enterprise_.

Kirk was right- again.

_Damn_ him.

The group broke up as the commander delivered the customary welcome to Starfleet and wished them Godspeed. Gaila spun on her heel, gracing her friends with a quivering smile- she was assigned to the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, naturally; she helped to encode the _Kobayashi Maru_ that year- and the moment she had skittered away with the rest of their peers, Valravn turned to the quietly seething Uhura.

"Go and talk to him," she urged quietly. "I'll see you on board."

Uhura gave a grim smile and stormed away, shoulders braced, eyes burning like embers. Valravn decided to leave the matter in her capable hands and swept towards the closest _Enterprise_ shuttle.

Valravn was unspeakably frustrated when her fluid gait was cut short by the commander registering each cadet ascending the shallow ramp to the shuttle, who made her pause just as she was about to duck through the open hatch.

"One moment, please."

Standing with admirable patience as he scanned her identification, Valravn raised an eyebrow icily.

"Winter, Valravn. I'll need to speak with you once we take off. Given your assignment, you'll need a PADD."

Confused by the order, but too low on patience to question the matter further- and certainly not with a growing queue at her back- she nodded with terse compliance and climbed aboard the small spacecraft.

* * *

"He didn't call my name."

The words were uttered with quiet fury, demanding explanation. Kirk felt a surge of adrenaline as he strode after the squat, thickset commander, heated but determinedly calm in his pursuit, McCoy at his back out of camaraderie as their fellows scattered.

"Commander! Sir, you didn't call my name," he said piercingly. "Kirk, James T."

The commander, preoccupied by the information he was rapidly entering into the nearby terminal, didn't look at Kirk as he responded. "Kirk, you're on academic suspension. That means you're grounded until the academy board rules."

Jim watched him leave numbly.

A year ago, during a particularly violent sparring session, Valravn had effortlessly blocked one of his more powerful blows, thrown his arm aside and delivered a debilitating punch to his abdomen. He couldn't even cry out at how fast she had moved- the precise strike forced all air from his lungs and paralysed his diaphragm, leaving him dropping to the floor in pure shock. When the black mist finally lifted from his vision, he found Valravn bent over him, panicked, raw as an exposed nerve, almost frightened, as she pressed her palm to his sternum to restore his breathing, apologising, pleading with him to say something.

Kirk felt almost exactly the same as he had at that moment- shocked breathless, unable to react- except here, there was no laughing weakly into Valravn's neck as he hugged her, assuring her that he was fine. Instead, there was just a vacuum of terror.

"Jim- the board will rule in your favour," he heard McCoy say from behind him. "Probably. You already had them on the ropes back there. The ruling- that's a formality at this point. It's just the regulations, you know how it is."

Kirk nodded, swallowing, his chest constricting with hot, prickling frustration.

"Look, Jim- I gotta go," the doctor said, uncomfortable, sounding almost remorseful.

Kirk turned and forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah, you go," he said, gripping his hand tightly in farewell. With sincerity, he added, "Be safe."

McCoy nodded, and walked away reluctantly, torn as he joined the other flash-promoted cadets breaking away to leave Earth's atmosphere for their first impromptu mission. Jim stood in the midst of the storm of motion, hollow, the desolation setting in as he felt everything he had ever worked for crumbling and slipping away like sand.

McCoy got approximately fifteen feet away before exasperation- and a rather reckless idea- struck him simultaneously.

Leonard McCoy was not one to put _reason_ before _honour_. Protocol be damned; he was doing what his gut told him was _right_.

"_Damn it_," he muttered under his breath, turning back before he could change his mind. Grabbing his friend's arm in an iron grip, he hauled a bemused Kirk away. "Keep your mouth shut and come with me."

There was no time to waste; the shuttles would be leaving shortly, but fortunately McCoy knew the exact section of the hangar he was looking for- carefully sectioned off from the less tightly controlled cargo to be shipped aboard the vessels waiting for their hastily assembled crews. All he needed was a hypospray and one of the tiny, refrigerated cartridges of any variation of a specific solution. He could do that, at the very least. Medical professionals were made to operate under high pressure and heavy time constraints, after all.

A shuttle was leaving for the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, and both he and Kirk were going to be on it.

* * *

_May 14, 2258 – Transport Shuttle C of the U.S.S. _Enterprise

The PADD they had given her was sleek, like a sheet of glass- not as flimsy as the radiant manifesto sheets of plastic some officers carried, lighter than the usual heavy-duty PADDS she used for years of study- touch sensitive, luminescent, secured at one side with a band of stainless metal installed with manual buttons and dials. Valravn still had no idea why it had been given to her, only that it was synchronised with her orders and the location she was to report to as soon as she arrived, and that she must do so post-haste.

As if a Red Alert situation didn't call for _post-haste_ from all crew members already.

They had long since soared above the morning-greyed landscape of San Francisco, the water of the river as overcast as the skies it reflected, and reached beyond stratospheric levels, leaving the highest arc of the thermosphere and emerging into open space. Moving back to the only free seat left aboard while the craft was in flight was not exactly the easiest thing she had ever done, and certainly not when she had one hand occupied, but Valravn managed the trek with admirable grace.

She drew up short, however, when she heard a familiar voice to her right. "_I may throw up on you_," it ground out with a healthy dash of hatred to whoever was sitting next to him.

"_James_?"

Kirk looked up. He was dangerously pale, as though he was about to collapse, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, blue eyes glazed over, both arms crossed over his chest tightly, as though supressing convulsions or the urge to retch. Valravn's gaze swung accusingly to the doctor sat next to him, staring out of the window, apparently oblivious.

"McCoy." When she received no response, Valravn's cadence hissed low and murderous, rumbling through her like thunder, the low protective snarl of a panther. "_Leonard_."

McCoy started and turned, looking suitably terrified when he met her eyes.

"You have exactly forty-five seconds to explain what happened to my satisfaction, before I _slit your throat_," she said icily, her free hand pressing to Kirk's shaking shoulder. Her stomach tightened when she heard him groan softly, coughing out a stuttering breath. "And don't play the ignorant card, I know you had something to do with this."

Leaning forwards across Jim, McCoy murmured furtively, "He's been suspended from duty because the tribunal was interrupted- since they didn't rule, he's supposed to stay planet-side. I couldn't just leave him there, lookin' all pathetic, so- I gave him a jab. Just a mud flea viral vaccine to give him the symptoms for an hour, that's all, so I could talk them into letting me decide on his treatment as his attending physician, which happens to involve him coming with me onto the _Enterprise_. Medical regulations supersedes academic every time."

"Reactions from a vaccine are _not_ normally this dramatic." Valravn bit out, never diverted for a second from her primary concern, silently promising to hunt McCoy for sport if any of the symptoms left Kirk with permanent damage. "_Explain_."

"Bad reaction, I guess- nothing serious. It was to get him aboard, Raven."

"I _am_ here, you know," Kirk rasped out indignantly.

Valravn's fingers slid from his shoulder to the nape of his neck placating, dipping underneath his collar, and he sighed with relief as her cool skin made contact with his. "I have to admit, using the attending physician loophole was very sneaky of you. I confess myself impressed," she addressed McCoy with a measure of gratitude, all the while maintaining her unstable balance on the shuttle's sloping floor. The doctor preened slightly. "Then again, I suppose you owe him, after he saved your ass during the Vespa incident."

McCoy looked horrified. "You _know_ about that?!"

Even through his fever and throbbing headache, Jim managed a giggle.

The shuttle suddenly jolted- not particularly roughly, but it was enough to throw off Valravn's centre of balance. Kirk's hand shot up to grip her elbow, rescuing her on instinct, although he was really in no fit state to do much more than breathe at present.

"Just- you two, you've got to see this," McCoy said impatiently, turning back to the window, "Quick-"

"_What-_?"

"- just _look_."

Curious, annoyed and slightly perplexed, Valravn gripped the back of Kirk's seat and leaned forwards to see out of the small pane of transparent aluminium, frosted around the edges from the departure from Earth's atmosphere.

The sight beyond took her breath away.

"James."

Something in her voice made Kirk follow her gaze.

The living city in orbit, unimaginatively named Starbase 1, was suspended weightlessly before them in the blackness, a bright array of six massive and carefully spaced metal appendages as spokes of a ring encircling a gigantic orb of steel at its heart, etched with tracks of luminous blue. The flat disks of the docks and repair stations attached at the end of each arm reflected the glare of the sun, swarming with activity as each of the starships docked were prepared for launch.

And there, amongst them- streamlined and perfect- was the _Enterprise_.

Kirk had seen her once before, at the Riverside Shipyard in Iowa: ungainly, unfinished, magnificence in construction, gaping holes in the shell of her sleek hull. The starship that they swept past was nothing short of a polished masterpiece of the apex of current technology, looming and sculpted and sharp and all brand new with a mirror-bright titanium pearlescent gloss, making him almost wish he could run his fingertips along her illuminated hull, trace over the freshly painted identity displayed across the gleaming metal.

"_Beautiful_."

The girl next to him had summarised his thoughts precisely.

Looking across at her, hovering an inch away, Kirk was hit by the sudden, fever-dream notion that Valravn and the _Enterprise_ were not so different. Cold, efficient, battle-ready- a virginal, strong voyager designed to protect and go beyond the stars and-

Valravn suddenly looked at him. Jim was met with eyes the clarity of glacial ice, framed by long, soft smoke-ebony lashes.

_Beautiful_.

If he hadn't been feeling so spectacularly nauseous, Kirk might have closed the distance between them and kissed her.


	7. Chapter VII: Precipice

_**A/N: **If this chapter wasn't canon, I would call it filler. Gods, I hated writing this one. So much exposition._

_Fun fact, though: I've hidden an encoded spoiler somewhere in this chapter about my future plans for this story. It's_ extremely_ subtle, but the first to get it- which part of the text it is, what it is, and what it means- I'll take any prompt you give me and incorporate it into the story somewhere. I'll give you a clue: it is in the third section, it is something Valravn says (though, in universe, it is actually just a coincidence) and has some numbers that may need decoding. By the way: take the two ones as eleven._

_So, good luck! And, as always- I hope you enjoy. At least, more than I did writing this._

* * *

VII  
_Precipice_

_May 14, 2258 – U.S.S. Enterprise_

Valravn smoothed out her skirt, and examined her reflection.

She had redone her hair, unravelled each lock and restarted her braid meticulously, leaving it swept away from her face, laced together and flowing into the simple plait resting over the curve of her spine. Her uniform clung to her, outlining her form, the collar of the dress dipping, just slightly, to show the pliable black of the sleeveless undershirt. The dress' fabric was the crimson red of the operations division, thin enough to be comfortable; she had kept her custom boots, with the wedge heel that gave her two inches of additional height, certain that no one would notice, care or begrudge her the minor deviation from dress code. The Starfleet insignia was displayed above her left breast- a silver pin the shape of a curved delta, a tiny streaked five-pointed star hollowed out within it- and, most importantly, a single thick band of silver was embroidered into each cuff of her taut full-length sleeves, encircling both wrists and flashing when she moved.

_Voice key recognised. Welcome to the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, Lieutenant Valravn Winter,_ the computer had chimed her when the door had slid aside, allowing her to enter the room she had been directed to by her PADD. _You have been appointed as chief of security aboard this vessel, with the additional distinction of hostile operations specialist and co-tactical officer. Report to the bridge._

Valravn's reflection hid a smile, a gleam of silver flashing between her fingers. Sheathing the knife, she slipped it into her deepest pocket and picked up her PADD, resting on the storage tower beside the body-length mirror. Her quarters were small, but far superior to her room at the academy- she was granted the luxury of a queen-sized bed, a large wardrobe and a generous en suite bathroom attached, as a bridge officer.

That was still a strange thought- she was a _bridge officer_.

With that stark reminder of her responsibilities, Valravn drew in a cleansing breath, and exited her quarters.

The map on her PADD directed her on the shortest route to the bridge, past various crew members skittering to their posts, and into a nearby turbo elevator. The cylindrical capsule of the lift swooped upwards, every vein of the _Enterprise_ humming around her with pure energy- chemical, electrical, mechanical, humanoid- fused together and breathing life into the vessel.

Valravn closed her eyes briefly, drawing the aura in, letting it steady her. It was another reminder of something that she had been to appreciate at only fourteen, upon her entry into Starfleet Academy: she was _nothing_, truly, in the scale of the universe. Her life did not count until the cosmos dictated that it did. Even here, she was just another proverbial cog in this colossal machine, a faint flicker of light amongst the stars in the galaxy.

The thought was oddly reassuring.

The elevator slid open, and Valravn stepped out.

The bridge was immaculate, sparkling and unused. The floor was a smooth surface of varnished volcanic-red, coated in an impact-resistant gloss, lights studded around the juncture where the walls met the ceiling; large translucent panels arranged around the bridge were digitally etched with statistics in varying tones of luminous sapphire blue; each individual workstation was a shallow crescent of white, installed with complex instrumentation and dials and glassy touch screens, the fixtures slotted together perfectly. Valravn swept her gaze around the circular chamber. Every seat on the bridge was burgundy leather, she noticed, all except for one.

The command chair was high-backed, placed on a platform overlooking the navigation terminal and directly in front of the viewing screen: a sculpted frame of angular white, streamlined with silver, upholstered in supple black leather.

Valravn spared it an inscrutable glance before making her way to her station, taking her seat and signing in; her console faced the viewing screen, currently looking out into open space, slightly below and to the right of the navigation terminal as she approached. Synchronising her PADD to her station and keying in the access codes, she looked over the status report submitted to her by her subordinate officers- she actually had _subordinates_; now that was an insane thought- and, as per protocol, issued the order for her various teams to manually verify the digital manifesto of those aboard, ensure all officers were accounted for and confirm the decks secure and ready for launch. As an afterthought, Valravn added a sincere addition to her message wishing them luck.

Stowing her PADD away underneath her desk, she glanced up from her screen and noticed the chief navigation officer staring at her.

The young man- his face and form were both startlingly boyish, but Valravn was neither in a position nor inclined to be disparaging when it came to age- blushed slightly at being caught. He looked as though he was in his late teens, wiry and pale, dressed in command gold, with a cap of quirky dark-brass curls.

"Let me guess," Valravn found herself saying, "we were both thinking the same thing." He met her eyes again, warily, and Valravn propped her elbow against her desk, resting her jaw on the heel of her hand, her mouth softening into a subtle smirk. "_I thought I was going to be the youngest on the bridge_."

He grinned in reply, the colour in his face diffusing as he gave a small laugh.

"It is a bit of a relief," he admitted shyly, his accent thick and lilting, vowels short and sharp- Russian, Valravn guessed, or something Slavic; Uhura would probably know. He paused for a moment, before rising slightly from his seat, bravely holding out his hand for her to shake. "Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov, chief navigation officer and co-tactical. Star City Conservatory and Terra Academy of Astrophysics and Mathematics, Moscow. Seventeen," he added with a twinkling of his pale eyes.

"Lieutenant Valravn Winter- Raven, if you prefer," Valravn replied, hovering out of her own seat and slipping her hand into his, the charm on her hair cuff clinking against her ribs, reciting her credentials in return. "Security chief, hostile operations specialist and co-tactical. Starfleet Academy, San Francisco. Eighteen."

"You are from the academy?" Chekov said in surprise, releasing her hand. Valravn dropped back into her seat, crossing her legs, and the navigation chief echoed her action. "Ah- sorry, I didn't mean- I know that some students travel to study at Starfleet Academy, but with that accent- you _are_ English, yes? I would have thought you would have attended Oxford, or the Cambridge Society."

"I actually did study at Oxford for a while," Valravn confessed, not mentioning that it had been at the ridiculously young age of nine. Chekov was clearly a child prodigy himself, and no doubt could guess at the details without needing her to run through the usual tedious clarification. "But I moved to California to live with a relative not long after, so the academy it was. But- Moscow." She smiled faintly. "I passed through there on a road trip with a friend last summer. I even persuaded him to come with me and visit that famous music theatre."

"The Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko? Fantastic acoustics. Cello," Chekov elaborated cheerfully.

Valravn smiled wryly. "Piano."

At that moment, Valravn's terminal chirped with an incoming message- glancing over her shoulder, she saw that it was one requesting her to review the weaponry status, and authorise the review before warp. "Duty calls. Nice to meet you, Chekov," she added, with warmth.

"And you," he replied brightly, swivelling back to his own station.

Minutes later, Valravn's personal tutor stepped aboard, standard readout in hand, dressed in the bright blue shirt of the science division, wrists bearing the thick double silver bands that marked him as commander rank. Valravn cut Spock a glance out of the corner of her eyes, still raw over what he had said to Kirk during the tribunal. Whatever Spock might claim, Valravn saw the comment about George Kirk as unnecessarily vindictive- something that even Vulcans were perfectly capable of being, even if they prided themselves on control over their emotions. Still, she said nothing and sent the order for all external hatches to be fully secured in preparation for launch. She had yet to hit a single technical snag, and Valravn caressed her console with her fingertips, silently thanking the _Enterprise_ for being the worthy new flagship that Starfleet had lauded her as.

"Mr Spock," a familiar voice sounded from across the bridge.

"Captain. Engineering reports ready for launch."

"Thank you," Captain Christopher Pike said, walking from the hallway entrance to his command seat. For Valravn, it was her first time seeing her uncle in his official Starfleet uniform, aside from the ceremonial slate-grey and campus charcoal-black; his shirt was command gold, of course, and he wore it well. Bright silver outlined his wrists- two the same thickness as the single stripe on Valravn's own, encircling a third narrower one. "Ladies and gentleman, the maiden voyage of our new flagship deserves more pomp and circumstance than we can afford today," he addressed the bridge. His eyes, however, fell directly on his niece, rotated in her chair to watch him like the other officers. Pike allowed the visage of a captain to slip just long enough to give Valravn a minute smile. Valravn returned it, the hardness in her mouth softening in acknowledgement. "Her christening will just have to be our reward for her safe return. Carry on."

Pike took his seat and pressed a button on the arm of the command chair, a hollow digital whine sounding. "All decks, this is Captain Pike, prepare for immediate departure." He released the key, and looked towards the helmsman. "Helm- thrusters."

Valravn crushed the flutter of excitement in her chest, running through her notifications as a distraction.

"Moorings retracted, Captain," the helmsman reported. "Dock control reports ready. Thrusters fired." An echoing slam supported this statement. "Separating from space dock."

Even from the bridge, Valravn could feel the nacelles roaring to life and purring a low, potent drone from far behind her, driving the vessel forwards. The pattern of the stars shifted as the _Enterprise_ left its dock, the other ships of the fleet deployed to Vulcan drifting to view of the screen, floating at an incline in the abyss.

"The fleet has cleared space dock, Captain. All ships ready for warp."

"Set course for Vulcan."

"Aye, aye, Captain. Course laid in."

"Maximum warp," Pike commanded, swivelling to face forwards. "Punch it."

Valravn drew in a breath, the fingers of her left hand tightening on the hem of her skirt before she realised what she was doing, and smoothed the crease out, embarrassed by her nerves.

This was _it_.

The helmsman wrapped his fingers around a brightly polished chrome lever, and slowly pushed forwards. The other ships of the fleet disappeared around them in streaks of blue light, each with a cracking sound like a gunshot.

The _Enterprise_ gave a powerful whine.

And- nothing happened. The galaxy remained stationary around them.

The helmsman paused, perplexed, holding the lever at its highest position for a long moment, before finally releasing it with a soft hiss. An unspoken confusion filled the air as the whir of the warp drive powered down, and died away.

"Lieutenant," Pike said, quietly unimpressed by the spectacular failure to reach warp, "where is Helmsman McKenna?"

"He has lungworm, sir. He couldn't report to his post," the young man replied as he hastily checked his instrumentation for any fatal flaws he had missed in his preparation for launch. Valravn looked at him properly for the first time- he was in his early twenties, perhaps a year or two older, with jet-black hair, Asian features and an attractive angular slant to his dark eyes. He turned towards Pike respectfully. "I'm Hikaru Sulu."

"And you are a _pilot_, right?" Pike asked.

Sulu smiled. "Very much so, sir," he assured the captain, spinning back towards his terminal and scanning the helm controls with increasing concern. "I'm, uh- I'm not quite sure what's wrong here-"

"Is the parking brake on?" Pike suggested dryly.

"Uh, no," Sulu laughed slightly. "I'll figure it out, I'm just-"

"Have you disengaged the external inertial dampener?" Spock suddenly asked from the science station at the back of the bridge.

There was a moment of tense silence that confirmed the query.

Valravn closed her eyes, the motion serving as her only external reaction. It was a novice mistake, but a minor one, and one that could have happened to any young pilot; she would have been more concerned if the internal inertial dampener was turned _off_, she reasoned, seeing as it would kill them all instantly if they went into warp without it.

Sulu keyed something in with a annoyed yet suitably abashed jab of his finger and straightened.

"Ready for warp, sir," he said stiffly, looking anywhere but the command chair or science station.

"The external inertial dampener. That's… the parking brake," Pike said tonelessly, and Valravn watched him give a wry smile, willing to see embarrassment as suitable reprimand and otherwise let the incident go. "Let's punch it."

Finally- after the harmless false start, and in the wake of the rest of the fleet- the darkness warped before them, the stars streaked, and the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ shot through the empty space.

* * *

"Where are we?" Kirk slurred out, redressed from his cadet uniform into nondescript black.

"Medical bay," McCoy informed him, hauling him out of the elevator and towards the nearest bed.

"This wasn't worth it," Kirk whimpered, having regained most of his strength but still stumbling, his body shuddering in protest to the strains of the virus flooding his system. The doctor simply rolled his eyes, suspecting that Jim was just being dramatic; if he could endure combat sessions with Valravn Winter then, in McCoy's medically certified opinion, he could push through the admitted unpleasantness of the injection.

"A little suffering is good for the soul," he said tersely. "Now don't whine. Your girlfriend hates that."

"For the last time, Bones, V is not my girlfriend. _Unfortunately_," Kirk added in an undertone that McCoy pretended not to hear. "Hey, my mouth is itchy, is that normal?"

McCoy deposited him on the nearest bed unceremoniously. "Well, the symptoms won't last long," he said, extracting the silver hypospray from the bag slung over his shoulder and filling it with a clear fluid, the delivery mechanism drawing it up automatically the moment he pierced the capsule. "I'm going to give you a mild sedative."

Kirk groaned, tense with the shivers wracking his body. "_I wish I didn't know you_."

"Don't be such an infant," McCoy retorted exasperatedly.

"You know, I'm grateful for this and everything- really, I am- but you could really learn from Valravn, Bones," Kirk ground out, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again in an attempt to rid himself of the blindness in his left eye. "At least she kissed my cheek that night we-"

Seizing the opportunity while he was distracted, McCoy jabbed the needle into the flesh of Kirk's neck. His patient gave a strangled cry of protest at the fresh sting of pain, shaking his head. "_Augh_! How long is it supposed t-"

At that exact moment, Kirk's eyes fluttered shut and he collapsed on the bed, leaving McCoy feeling annoyed, relieved, and wondering about the origins of this _kiss on the cheek_.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, drawing the curtain around the bed with a rasp of metal rings and sterile sheet canvas.

* * *

"Engines at maximum warp, Captain," Sulu reported. The viewing screen was filled with a constant tunnel of flickering light, like water, the engines twisting space around the starship. Valravn glanced up at it periodically as she ran through the usual procedure. Aside from a moderately exasperating quantity of unauthorised access alarms throughout the ship- all a result of its new crew orientating itself; _amateurs_, she couldn't help but scoff internally- everything was functioning normally.

"Thank you, Mr Sulu. Mr Spock," Pike turned to his left, "see that all departments receive full details of the Vulcan transmission so that they can organise their sectors effectively. Let's give them a condensed version first." Valravn felt his gaze skim over her for a moment from out of the corner of his eye. "It'll have more impact coming from tactical. Lieutenant Winter, and- what's the name of that Russian whiz-kid? Chanko? Cherpov?"

"Ensign Chekov, sir," Valravn's fellow co-tactical officer spoke up from Valravn's left as she spun her chair around to face her captain. "Pavel Andreievich."

"Right- Chekov," Pike acknowledged the intern with a nod. "You are both familiar with the Vulcan transmission, I'm assuming?"

"Yes, Captain," Valravn affirmed, supplemented by Chekov's nod.

"Then neither of you have no objections to providing a joint verbal summary for the crew?"

Chekov glanced at Valravn for her opinion, and she nodded. "Yes sir, happy to," he answered for them both.

Valravn turned back to her console and dialled in a few keys.

"Winter, Valravn. Lieutenant authorisation code, one-one-eight-Alpha-November."

"_Access granted,_" the computer replied promptly. "_Lieutenant Winter, you are recognised_."

As Valravn opened up the on-board communications system, setting up a ship-wide broadcast feed to be split onscreen with the navigation terminal to her left, Chekov seemed to be struggling against the voice recognition system. "Ensign authorisation code," he repeated insistently, pronouncing the letters blended by his accent with deliberate care. "Nine-nine-Victor-Victor-two." He sighed as his terminal finally complied, and Valravn hid a smile. "Activate intraship communications, all channels."

Across the _Enterprise_, the image of the two young tactical officers appeared on almost every active monitor, replacing readouts and manifestos, entertainment streams and directory indexes, the screen split between their individual console feeds. In every corner of the vessel, regardless of department- in the roaring bowels and hissing labyrinths of engineering, on the weapons deck surrounded by incomprehensible levels of concentrated destructive power, in the temporary tranquillity of the medical bay, in the powerful hubs of the programming and monitoring chambers- technicians and supervisors paused to listen to the address.

"_Your attention please_," Valravn began, the dark sharp young woman and her crisply professional, crystalline tone instantly capturing the notice of those she addressed. "_This is Lieutenant Valravn Winter and Ensign Pavel Chekov speaking to you from the bridge. The captain has requested that we brief you on the details of our impending mission to the planet Vulcan. All departments will receive the full transcript of the original distress transmission in due course_."

The lieutenant paused briefly, allowing those busy with their duties to pause and gather around the closest monitor, before continuing.

"_At twenty-two hundred hours GMT, long-range sensors detected an energy surge of stellar proportions in the Vulcan quadrant. The anomaly has been visually described by direct observers as a _lightning storm in space_. Soon after, Starfleet received a distress signal from the Vulcan High Command, reporting that the planet was exhibiting unprecedented seismic activity_."

Valravn halted, and the ensign took over. "_The amount of movement in the planetary crust has been declared by Vulcan as indicative of immense tectonic shifts, potentially sufficient to trigger massive earthquakes and volcanic activity, and suggestive of the possibility of a major terraforming event. Our mission is to assess the condition of Vulcan and assist in evacuations if necessary. We should be arriving at Vulcan within three minutes. Thank you for your time_."

* * *

Emerging from the depths of sedated sleep, Jim could hear Valravn's voice.

While Kirk considered it to be, by far, one of the best things in the galaxy to wake up to, it left him feeling confused underneath the fading effects of the tranquilliser, his thought processes as numb and slow-moving as his limbs. Valravn couldn't be in the medical bay. Kirk knew that she was aboard, but she would have to be at her station- and though she did have basic medical training, she was by no means a qualified doctor, so she couldn't be here unless she was injured- and Kirk highly doubted that.

But he _knew_ her voice. That was Valravn's voice.

"_… speaking to you from the bridge. The captain has requested that…_"

A broadcast from the bridge. _There_ it was: Valravn had been made a bridge officer, and had been given the task of briefing the crew on their mission. Even through the throbbing pain re-entering his body, Kirk grinned victoriously, his eyes still closed against the brightness of the room, soaking in the sound of her voice as though it was liquid morphine.

"_… twenty-two hundred hours GMT, long-range sensors detected an energy surge of stellar proportions…_"

Jim's smile grew, consciousness trickling back in, as he wondered idly if some of the older officers were staring at the image on the monitors and questioning how she had achieved such a prestigious position at her age.

"_… by observers as a _lightning storm in space_. Soon after, Starfleet received a distress signal from the Vulcan High Command, reporting_…"

Kirk paused, his mind whirring back to life. _Lightning storm in space._ He could swear he had heard that phrase somewhere before.

"_… exhibiting unprecedented seismic activity_…"

It was such a bizarre anomaly- an electrical storm in outer space, and the sudden appearance of such a vast amount of energy without an apparent cause- and how this was linked with the shifting of Vulcan's planetary structure was beyond him, although perhaps it was just Starfleet HQ hoping that it was merely a transitory event-

A new voice had taken over, a thick Russian accent Kirk didn't recognise. "…_ movement in the planetary crust has been declared as indicative of immense tectonic shifts_…"

Kirk couldn't think. Willing the last dregs of sedative out of his brain, he forced himself to _think_.

"… _of Vulcan and assist in evacuations if necessary. We should be arriving_…"

His memory sparked, and the realisation hit him with the force of a sucker-punch. His eyes snapped open.

There was one place he had heard that phrase before, though Kirk wished it was otherwise.

"… _three minutes. Thank you for your time_."

Kirk sat up entirely too fast, jolting and shaking, but it didn't matter. He had to tell them- he had to warn them. It was the same as before, it was happening all over again, they were stepping directly into the path of something that they simply weren't equipped for, it was going to happen again and he could _not_ allow that-

"_Lightning storm_-!"

Oblivious to his revelation, or else passing it off as mild delirium, McCoy approached, dressed in an electric blue shirt bearing the dual silver rank strikes- one thick, one thin- of lieutenant commander. "Ah, Jim, you're awake. How are you feeling- _good god, man_!"

"What- _argh_!"

Kirk stared down at his hands in horror. They had swollen to thrice their size. He found himself torn between fascination and abject disgust.

"What the hell is _this_?!"

"A reaction to the vaccine, damn it!" McCoy shouted his reply as he scrambled for the strongest antihistamine he could lay his hands on. "_Nurse Chapel_! I need fifty ccs of cortisone!"

Jim, meanwhile, was preoccupied with more pressing matters. Throwing himself out of bed, Kirk hurtled towards the closest terminal, desperately needing to confirm his theory. Fumbling with the touch-screen interface, ignoring his friend, who had returned and was scanning his head urgently, Kirk bought up the previous transmission, skipping forwards furiously.

"- _Vulcan quadrant- an anomaly that has been described by observers as a _lightning storm in space," Valravn's voice repeated.

"Bones!" Kirk turned to the alarmed doctor. "_We've gotta stop the ship_!"

* * *

On the bridge, Valravn rolled her eyes at yet another unauthorised access alert at a terminal near the medical bay- sent up to her by one of her subordinates who seemed to misunderstand the theory of _delegation_.

Adding it resignedly to the main log and having the user's identity recorded for later examination, along with approximately two hundred others, Valravn returned to the far more urgent task of coordinating the data from the ship's security sensors.

* * *

"Jim! I'm not kidding! _You need to keep your heart rate down_!"

McCoy sprinted out of the elevator and after his wayward patient, terrified underneath his medical expert demeanour of the consequences that the reaction could have, rummaging through the kit balanced in his arms for the cortisone. Kirk could have cared less at that moment; he was finally piecing it all together, and it was making a disturbing amount of sense. An unexplained anomaly in otherwise stationary space- the seismic activity on Vulcan- and the last piece: the destruction of an entire Klingon armada shortly before the distress call. It was pure luck that he had heard that last fragment of information, pure good fortune that Valravn was so close friends with Uhura. Chances were, from what she had told him in the past about Uhura's abilities, that the communications cadet would be aboard the _Enterprise_\- which meant that she could confirm his suspicions and validate his theory.

He was reckless, but not reckless enough to charge onto the bridge without solid proof.

Kirk stopped at the nearest terminal, the speed with which he had been moving almost scrambling his thought processes entirely. "Computer, locate crew member Uhura!"

"_Cadet Kirk, you are not authorised_-"

Jim cursed colourfully at the electronic voice. "Register urgency of tone and adjust security parameters accordingly!"

"_Voice tone registered and recorded for later assessment. Temporary access granted_."

"Fantastic, _now locate crew member Uhura_!"

"I haven't seen a reaction this severe since med school," McCoy muttered, filling his hypospray with fingers that, if they had been a few hard years less experienced, might have been shaking. Before he could so much as think about administering the dose, Kirk was muttering the deck number the computer had provided him with and bolting away.

"We're flying into a trap-!"

"Damn it, Jim!" The exasperated doctor caught up to the frenzied cadet and grabbed the back of his shirt. "_Stand still_!"

He managed to capture Kirk just long enough to jab him with the hypospray, eliciting yet another frustrated yelp of pain.

"_Stop it_!" Kirk yelled, exasperated, before he turned and all but tore his way to a familiar figure sat at one of the many communications consoles, a long skein of straight black hair tied up behind her, wearing a sleeveless crimson dress emblazoned with the Starfleet insignia.

"_Uhura_!"

If the situation hadn't been so very literally _life or death_, Uhura's expression might have made Kirk laugh. She stood, almost tripping, facing him with a blend of confusion, shock and sheer annoyance.

"Kirk- what are you _doing_-"

"Uhura, that transmission from the Klingon prison planet, what _exactly_ did it say-"

"Oh my _god_, what's wrong with your hands?!"

"Look, it doesn't-" Jim shook his head desperately, McCoy stood behind him and scanning him once more. "Who was responsible for the attack-"

"_What_?"

"- and was the ship _Ro'u'an_?"

Finally appearing to have registered and begun to react to his uncharacteristic urgency, Uhura paused, perplexed, her eyes narrowed. "Was the ship _what_?"

Kirk attempted duplicating the word, before realising that his speech was suddenly and increasingly garbled. "Ro- _wha's happe'ing to my mou'_?" He directed at McCoy over his shoulder.

McCoy grimaced. "You got numb tongue?"

"_Num' ton'_?!" Kirk echoed, irate and incredulous.

"I can fix that!" McCoy promised hastily, delving back into his kit.

"Was the ship _what_?" Uhura repeated her question, impatient but attentive.

"_Romu'an_."

"I-" Her gaze lowered and she watched his mouth carefully, how he was forming the words, listening by motion rather than by sound. "Wait- _Romulan_?" She ventured.

"Yeah!"

Uhura sharpened, her dark irises sparking with recognition. "Yes!"

"_Yes_!" Kirk shouted, before being stabbed in the neck yet again by McCoy's hypospray needle. "_Argh_-! _God damn it_!"

* * *

Next to her skill in combat, Valravn had always been notorious for her speed. Her fellow cadets had soon learned to know better than to interrupt her in the midst of a complex calculation- more often than not, her intellectual inertia meant that any disruption left her frustrated for hours afterwards. In simulations, high velocities meant nothing to her; in reality, it meant even less. But, perhaps most crucially, many of her regular opponents in physical training class had complained that fighting her was like trying to battle your own shadow. Regardless of the attack you threw, she knew how to counter it- and struck back before anyone could so much as register what she had done. Valravn took pride in her technique. She understood battle, and knew that her height, coupled with a lack of muscle mass, was a weakness. So she made her strikes blindingly fast, with flawless precision to cause the maximum damage and disarm her enemy before they had a chance to gain the upper hand- and therefore, she won.

This time was no exception.

She heard the _whoosh_ of the doors parting, the shout, three sets of footsteps pounding through the hallway before anyone else. With a whisk of air and a darting step she was standing between the intruder and her captain, halting them with a slam of the outside of her forearm against their chest like an iron bar, blocking them from advancing- her elbow was bent, poised to throw them back with a simple strategic shove, grab their wrist and dislocate their shoulder.

The safety of every officer on the bridge was part of her job description.

However, in the split second that followed, she didn't follow through with the debilitating move she had been primed to flow into- all at once, she registered black taut fabric, emblazoned with a faint silver impression of the Starfleet insignia, dark blonde hair and an appealing masculine scent she knew all too well. Her instant subconscious reaction killed all notion of attacking the person in front of her.

Those few days ago, when she had messaged Kirk, she hadn't been lying: to her embarrassment, she really _did_ know his aftershave.

"_James_-?"

"_V_!"

Jim's hand snapped out and grasped at the wrist of the arm that wasn't blocking his way, the pads of his fingers sliding under her sleeve and seeking bare skin, using her as an anchor. The other two trespassers scrambled onto the bridge, close on his heels, as Kirk looked directly at Pike.

"Captain Pike! We have to stop the ship!"

"Kirk- how the _hell_ did you get on board the _Enterprise_?" Pike demanded with admirable composure, considering that his protégé had just stormed the bridge of a ship aboard which his mere presence was an infraction.

McCoy cut in. "Captain, this man is under the influence of a severe reaction to a vaccine, and I take full responsibility-"

"Vulcan is not experiencing a natural disaster!" Kirk addressed his mentor directly, ignoring McCoy's valiant attempt to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation, voice plated with hot steel. "It's being attacked by Romulans."

"_Romulans_?" Pike's expression was hard. "Cadet Kirk, I think you've had enough attention for one day- McCoy, take him back to medical. We'll have words later-"

Valravn saw a flash of panic in Kirk's eyes. The normally tranquil oceanic colour of his irises was churning with a desperate undercurrent, but Valravn could detect no trace of feverish delusion in them- they were as lucid and clear as ever.

Valravn knew James Kirk, and his eyes did not- _could_ not- lie to her.

"Captain, I think we should hear Cadet Kirk out," she said without thinking.

"And what are you basing _that_ on, Lieutenant Winter?" Pike asked, his tone severe and his gaze nearing thunderous.

Valravn, armed with a legitimate answer, stepped out of Kirk's grasp and positioned herself in front of him protectively, something she was sure did not go unnoticed by Pike.

"On the fact that I know of a transmission that could potentially support the premise of a Romulan attack on Vulcan," she replied. Pike raised an eyebrow. "Four days ago, I was in the long-range sensor laboratory with Lieutenant Uhura when she intercepted and decoded a distress signal from the Klingon prison planet. An armada of forty-seven Klingon warbirds was destroyed by a single Romulan vessel-"

Valravn felt a breath of air at her back. "And Captain, the same anomaly-"

"_Kirk_-" Pike ground out furiously.

Valravn knocked her heeled boot back against Kirk's shin, silently urging him to step down and keep his mouth shut before she was ordered to escort him off the bridge and into the brig. She made the subtlest of motions towards McCoy, urging him to beat a hasty retreat and leave the damage mitigation in her hands. The doctor nodded minutely, his stare asking her to do what she could for their mutual friend, and made his exit, thankfully unnoticed.

"Cadet Kirk is not cleared to be aboard this ship, Captain," Spock intervened upon the increasingly heated conversation, as calm and carefully neutral as ever. "Starfleet regulation makes him-"

Jim radiated terse sarcasm, stepping past Valravn, who was caught in the crossfire of the restrictions of her rank and the increasingly uneasy feeling that something was genuinely amiss. "Look, I get it, you're a great arguer, I'd _love_ to do it with you again sometime, but this is actually a-"

"- I am sure either Lieutenant Winter or myself can remove him-"

"_Try it_!" Kirk exploded, his temper spilling over violently. "This cadet is trying to save the bridge!"

"By recommending a full stop mid-warp during a rescue mission?" Spock redirected towards Kirk without so much as breaking stride.

"It's not a rescue mission," Kirk turned back to Pike, his voice low and urgent. "It's an _attack_."

"Based on what _facts_?" Spock challenged with dispassionate force.

Jim's eyes flared, and hardened as they locked upon the commander. Valravn saw a muscle in his jaw flicker dangerously. The moment of silence was deafening, embroidered by the low drone of idling consoles.

"That same anomaly that has been reported today- _a lightning storm in space_\- also occurred on the day of my birth," Kirk announced coldly, "before a Romulan ship attacked the U.S.S. _Kelvin_. You know that, sir," he appealed to Pike again, "I read your dissertation. That ship, which had formidable and advanced weaponry, was never seen or heard from again. The _Kelvin_ was attacked on the edge of Klingon space, and just as Val- Lieutenant Winter said, at twenty-three hundred hours, four days ago, there was an attack: forty-seven warbirds destroyed by one massive Romulan ship."

"And you know of this attack," Pike's eyes slid over his niece knowingly, "_how_?"

"Cadet Kirk was present when Lieutenant Uhura and I were discussing it later that night," Valravn supplied unhesitatingly, glancing over towards the young woman hovering a few feet away from their cluster. "She was asking my opinion on the information she had translated, given the unusual content- to see if it was genuine. She suspected that it could have been a feint, corrupted data or a mistranslation."

Another captain might have debated whether a pre-graduate had enough knowledge of such diverse areas of combat to provide analysis of weaponry and combatants solely from a distress signal- but fortunately, Pike knew better. He turned, instead, an evaluative stare on Uhura.

"Everything Lieutenant Winter has said is true, sir. I intercepted the transmission myself," Uhura confirmed with a glance at Valravn, "and I relayed the full details to Lieutenant Winter for her analysis. I believe she did mention at the time that there were distinctive similarities between the calibre of weaponry that was reported from the attack on the _Kelvin_ and the information gleaned from this incident. Her report- and Kirk's- are both accurate."

"We're warping into a trap, sir." Kirk said evenly, vehemence still heavily present, contained behind a calm veneer. "The Romulans will be waiting for us at Vulcan, I promise you that."

Pike processed this in stony silence, his gaze first falling from Kirk's to Valravn's, before finally settling upon that of his executive officer. Spock betrayed no hint of the thoughts whirring away behind his dark eyes, remarkably restrained, until he spoke.

"The cadet's logic is sound," he declared without acrimony. "And Lieutenant Uhura is unmatched in xenolinguistics. We would be wise to accept her conclusion. Lieutenant Winter's as well, given her extensive proficiency in her field."

That was enough for Pike; having witnessed their intellectual clash earlier at the academy, he knew that Spock would not cede the point unless he saw a tangible thread of logic. "Scan Vulcan space," he ordered. "Check for any transmissions in Romulan."

"Sir, I'm not sure I can distinguish the Romulan language from Vulcan," the chief communications officer spoke up. It was of no surprise; many communications officers were linguists, but not all, and the differentiation between Romulan and Vulcan dialects were notoriously difficult even for those that were, thanks to their shared ancestry.

"What about you?" Pike directed towards Uhura, thinking quickly. "You speak Romulan- Cadet-?"

"Uhura," the xenolinguist supplied. "All three dialects, sir."

"Uhura, relieve the lieutenant."

She took the sudden and daunting assignment with admirable grace. "Yes, sir."

"Hannity," Pike called over his shoulder, "hail the U.S.S. _Truman_."

Valravn dragged in a deep breath. If Kirk was right, and this was a hostile situation facing the same vessel that had annihilated the U.S.S. _Kelvin_ twenty-five years ago, then the weight of her duties had tripled. Her heart constricted as she ran through the scenarios they now faced.

Valravn felt a hand slide into hers and grip, briefly but firmly.

Without looking up at Kirk, she tightened her fingers around his.

"The other ships are out of warp, sir, and have arrived at Vulcan," the officer replied to her captain with a ripple of concern, "but we- we seem to have lost all contact."

"Sir, I'm not picking up any Romulan transmissions," Uhura reported from her new station, eyes distant as she listened carefully, flickering with puzzlement. "Or transmissions of any kind in the area. Not even the automated transponder signals."

"Then it is extremely like that they are being engaged," Valravn stated darkly, her eyes unwavering from her uncle's. "Or, something is interfering with the signals- blocking communication both ways."

Pike gazed back at her, not liking the implication. She was stood stubbornly at Kirk's side, but her voice and expression were both cold and calculated, those of a Starfleet security officer.

Making his way back to the command chair, Pike kept his voice as stable as a captain's always should be when relaying orders.

"Shields up. Red Alert."

The bridge became a flurry of efficient motion. Valravn darted back to her terminal, brushing past Kirk and retaking her seat, sending out the immediate order for all of her teams to brace for possible hostilities, and placing the ship-wide security status on Red Alert. She caught Chekov raising shields on the periphery of her vision, and quietly calibrated the vessel's weapons to her controls.

"Arrival at Vulcan in five seconds," Sulu announced.

Valravn chanced one last look over her shoulder and saw Spock and Kirk stood behind the captain's chair, exchanging a fleeting, unreadable glance.

Valravn froze over. Whether Jim was right or wrong about this attack, there was a battle ahead. The only real difference would be whether it was combat to the death in the field or in another Starfleet tribunal.

She looked forwards.

"Three… two-"

A twisted, blackened fragment of the U.S.S. _Defiant's_ hull hurtled at the view screen.


	8. Chapter VIII: Fire, Blood and Gravity

_**A/N: **I'm back! Yes, I know, finally. I've been dealing with quite a lot lately, and I've been working on this one for a while. This is my first action scene I've ever written. It wasn't easy at all, so I hope this one is worth it as we get into our first fight. Please feel free to tell me what you think of the fight scenes- I'm open to criticism._

_On another note: **the encoded spoiler I left you in the previous chapter**. I am pleased to say that someone did locate and decode it successfully! **ArandoraStar** figured out that Valravn's authoriation code- 11-8-Alpha-November- is code for **KHAN.** They explained it better than I could: _**[**So, based on the hint you have in the beginning, the one-one equals eleven. So we have 11 8 alpha November. If we're talking NATO phonetics, alpha equals A and November equals N. So, 11 8 A N. I'm assuming this is a letter number cipher. Which would mean 11 K and 8 H. Which would spell KHAN.**] **_Well done__! However, they did_ not_ figure out the_ real_ secret behind the clue. Yes, this will indeed continue into the sequel- and for that guess, I'm more than happy to write you a prompt, if you like- but there's also something_ much_ bigger behind it._

_I don't want to give it away entirely, but try and think of my descriptions of Valravn. That's all I'm saying._

_One last thing: some more celebrations! Because of your amazing support, this story now has_** 5000+ views**_,_** 50+ favourites** _and_** 75+ alerts**_, making this my most successful and popular fanfiction of all time! My love to you all- especially for your outstanding patience!_

_Now then: on with the show._

* * *

VIII  
_Fire, Blood and Gravity_

They had warped into a maelstrom of steel and fire.

The bridge of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ shuddered, jolting violently as the drifting wreckage of obliterated fellow starships pelted her hull- the rest of their company had been decimated, six of the finest Starfleet crafts ripped into little more than cosmic shrapnel, blown apart as easily as glass. The evasive manoeuvre that the helmsman had reflexively performed saved them from worse damage, but by only half a second.

Watching his prophecy unfold into reality grimly, the light of the nearest star rising over the curve of Vulcan in a solid orb of flame, setting the dense debris field alight with reflected solar fire, Kirk felt the nausea sweep in. On the heels of a collective gasp, the bridge filled with frantic reports and orders. The chief science officer darted away from his place at Kirk's side and back to his station in one coldly urgent motion.

"Damage report!"

"Deflector shields are holding, sir!"

Kirk's knuckles turned as white as bare bone as he felt the _Enterprise_'s nacelle clip a floating mass of rubble they had dipped underneath- once quite possibly what used to be a section of the hull of the U.S.S. _Odyssey_; Kirk was trying not to think about the death toll, not now, when it was crucial to ensure that those aboard the _Enterprise_ did not join them in whatever afterlife awaited- as they circumnavigated the wreckage and emerged on the other side. The engines whined with exertion, but held steady.

The ship that loomed into view stilled the entire bridge. All motion ceased with a ripple of fascinated horror, tasks temporarily forgotten.

The ship- if it could even be identified as such, so bizarre was its design- dwarfed the sleek elegance of the ivory-silver _Enterprise_. It was an immense, twisted, writhing structure, masses of dense black metal wrought into thousands of twisting appendages, mechanical reptilian spines and articulated tentacles layered like barbed scales, akin to a giant mutated creature from the depths of the sea. Kirk looked to Valravn. She glanced over her shoulder at him, the simple gesture telling him that she had recognised it too; there was only one ship that it could be, according to the garbled reports salvaged digitally from the U.S.S. _Kelvin_ twenty-five years ago.

"Captain, they are locking torpedoes!" Spock alerted Pike.

"Divert auxiliary power from nacelles to forward shields!"

Several specks of light emerged from within the viciously spiked shell of the _Narada_, coursing towards the _Enterprise_ on rapid curves- the first three missed the hull narrowly, but the fourth, directed in the opposite direction towards the rear of the ship, hit. The shockwave that echoed up to the bridge nearly knocked Kirk to the floor, the room juddering.

"Sulu, status report!"

"Shields at thirty two per cent! Their weapons are powerful, sir- we can't take another hit like that."

Jim cursed under his breath. Even a quarter of a century of rapid technological developments, and a healthy paranoia after the _Kelvin_ incident that had led to the strengthening of defensive capabilities of all Starfleet vessels, it _still_ wasn't enough.

"Get me Starfleet Command," Pike barked at his executive officer.

Spock turned sharply from his place at the science station, the screens of which were displaying a number of disconcertingly high readings. "Captain, the Romulan ship has lowered some kind of high-energy pulse device into the Vulcan atmosphere. Its signal appears to be blocking our communications and transporter abilities."

"All power to forward shields. Prepare to fire all weapons!" Pike directed his last order at Valravn, who was quickly drawing up the controls and relaying the order to her weapons team.

Kirk closed his eyes. It wouldn't be enough. He knew that it would never be enough.

"Captain," Uhura suddenly spoke up, wavering with the slightest audible trace of anxiety. "We're being hailed."

Pike glanced at her.

"Onscreen."

The translucent digital image glided into place, superimposed over the curved transparent panel of the view screen. The face was slightly stretched, horizontally, due to the apparent differences between the communications programmes used by the Federation compared to the Romulan vessel, but Kirk glared at it as though it were flesh and bone, committing it to memory. The face was humanoid, hard and swarthy and weathered, head shaved; the skin was inked with bluish sculpted tattoos below the mouth, along the cheekbones, arcing up from the top of the column of the nose and branching across the forehead. Kirk recognised the arrow-straightness of the eyebrows, the peat-darkness of the eyes, as traits shared between Romulans and Vulcans- but where Vulcans were distinct for their universally neutral expression, this Romulan was a nadir of churning emotion.

"Hello," he said sardonically.

Jim had hated very few people in this life. While capable of deep resentment, he simply wasn't made for pure _hatred_\- there were only two souls thus far in his life that had earned that dishonour. But when he remembered one of the few photographs he had of his father- taken under the scorching sun in Iowa, featuring his laughing father and grinning brother, stood next to that gorgeous red Corvette, the one that he had destroyed in his first, angry, dramatic act of rebellion- he realised that he might have to make another exception.

Pike was speechless for a moment- whether through rage, confusion, or both, Kirk couldn't tell- but his reply, once he recovered, was impressively frigid, levelled with diamond-hard authority and a modicum of forced courtesy.

"I'm Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking?"

In an almost bored tone, the Romulan inclined his head and replied, "Hi, Christopher. I'm Nero."

Kirk wanted to reach through the screen and strangle him.

"You've declared war against the Federation," Pike continued stonily. "Withdraw, and I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location-"

"I do not speak for the empire," Nero interrupted with an abrupt flash of anger, simmering dangerously with a molten undercurrent of something that Kirk recognised as insanity. "We stand apart." He paused, his expression blackening like storm clouds. "As does your Vulcan crew member… Isn't that right, _Spock_?"

Kirk straightened up and looked to the science station. Spock rose from his seat, the eyes of those aboard the bridge turning towards him expectantly, and Kirk watched him closely as he stepped forwards.

"Pardon me," Spock said coolly, "I do not believe that you and I are acquainted."

"No, we're not," Nero conceded, with something too much like a twisted civility. "Not _yet_," he added ominously. "Spock- there is something I would like you to see." The commander's only reaction to the cryptic words was a small, suspicious quirk of his head. "Captain Pike- your transporter has been disabled. As you can see by the rest of your armada, you have no choice: you will man a shuttle, and come aboard the _Narada_, for negotiations. That is all."

The shadow of his arm crossed the screen and link was cut, the pixels that had formed the face of Nero dissolving with an electronic whine.

There was a prolonged moment of tense silence as Pike, slowly, stood and stepped away from the captain's chair, staring out at the monstrous vessel that had destroyed six of Starfleet's finest ships and was quite likely to do the same to them on a whim.

Kirk and Spock spoke at the same time- and, surprisingly, were in agreement.

"He'll kill you, you know that."

"Your survival is unlikely-"

"Captain, we gain nothing by diplomacy! Going over to that ship is a mistake-"

"I, too, agree; you should rethink your strategy."

"I understand that," Pike cut them both off calmly, and turned towards his chief of security. Valravn, as ever, betrayed absolutely nothing- yet Kirk detected a trace of defiance in the way she held Pike's gaze, making him wonder if she had worked something out about Pike's intentions that he had not. "Lieutenant Winter, I'll need you-" his voice rose slightly, "and any other officer here who has been trained in advanced hand-to-hand combat."

A hand rose at the navigation terminal.

"I have training, sir," Sulu said grimly.

Pike scanned him appraisingly. "Come with me. Both of you," he commanded, shifting his gaze to his protégé as Valravn rose, slipping her utility belt out from the cavity below her station and snapping it around her waist. "Kirk- you too; you're not supposed to be here anyway. Chekov! You have the conn."

He strode out without another word. The selected handful of his crew- Kirk, Sulu, Valravn and Spock, as mismatched in the colours they were clad in as their natural fortes- had no choice but to follow.

The interior of _Enterprise_ was intact, but shaken. The group sank down in the capsule of the turbolift into the depths of the _Enterprise_, emptying out onto one of the engineering decks, located just above the main hangar. Broad support beams and matrices of heavy white pipes loomed up around them, the squat block towers that stored the _Enterprise's_ mainframe's data bank creating a valley of walkways across the floor; amongst them, flurries of azure and ruby and crisp white passed them en route to various emergency reparations, both science and engineering pre-graduates working with an efficiency that the tutors of Starfleet Academy would have been able to take pride in.

"Without transporters, we can't beam off the ship- we can't assist Vulcan, we can't do our job," Pike told them above the cacophony of chatter and clattering and the immense droning hum of engines. "Mr Kirk, Mr Sulu, Miss Winter and Engineer Olsen will space-jump from the shuttle. You will land on that machine they've lowered into the atmosphere that's scrambling our gear; you'll get inside, you'll disable it, and then you'll beam back to the ship. Mr Spock- I'm leaving you in command of the _Enterprise._ Once we have transport capability and communications back up, you'll contact Starfleet and report what the hell's going on here. And if all else fails," Pike halted before the nearest vacant elevator, pivoting to face his subordinates, "fall back and rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system."

He suddenly looked towards Jim.

"Kirk, I'm promoting you to first officer."

"_What_?"

"Captain?" Commander Spock, for the first time in Kirk's presence, looked almost startled. "Please, I apologise; the complexity of human pranks escapes me."

There was a spark of amusement in Pike's eyes as he regarded his science officer.

"It's not a prank, Spock," he clarified. "And I'm not the captain. You are." He looked to Valravn, Kirk and Sulu. "Let's go."

As the other two officers filtered into the elevator, Kirk momentarily fixed Spock with a hard, searching look, before following Valravn, her shoulder brushing his chest in the close proximity. "Sir, after we knock out that drill, what happens to you?" Kirk asked Pike, addressing the problem that no one else seemed to want to broach- but it had to be done, for the sake of practicality if nothing else.

"Well, I guess you'll have to come and get me," Pike said in a deceptively blasé tone. Just before the elevator doors closed, Pike shot his executive commander a parting deadpan glance. "Careful with the ship, Spock. She's brand new."

The last thing they saw, before the cylindrical doors slid shut, was Spock lifting a single eyebrow.

* * *

By the time that Kirk, Sulu and the newly acquired Olsen thundered aboard the compact craft hastily selected for their impromptu mission, Pike and Valravn were already in position. The captain was in the pilot's seat, calculating the ideal route for the shuttle to take to give them the best chance of a successful landing on the drill without risking arousing suspicion from the _Narada_. The latter was waiting for them in the main chamber, adjusting her gauntlet beneath her glove, armoured in the sleek streamlined silhouette of a black EV suit, a metal figurine highlighted with a deadly gleam under the glare of the artificial lights. Valravn, despite her age, was holding herself with a confidence that Kirk liked to think he had taught her- coiled like a cobra, sinuous and dangerous, armed and primed and wrathful. It was almost a pleasant shock to the system as she turned a critical ice-laced gaze on the trio, like the touch of bare flesh to cold steel, as though time had unravelled by a few years and transformed her into the stranger who had once saved him in a bar fight.

The mismatched squad, clad in the flexible protective shells of the EV suits- Olsen in ruby, vibrating with irreverent enthusiasm; Sulu in citrine, projecting an enviable air of composure; Kirk in sapphire, calm yet self-conscious; Valravn in obsidian, in her element and casually indifferent- took their seats against the wall of the shuttle as it hummed to life around and beneath them, a static-warped voice echoing from the cockpit's controls declaring them cleared for take-off.

As they felt the solidity of the _Enterprise_'s titanium floors slip away beneath the craft's flight stabilisers, Kirk leaned forwards and addressed the chief engineer. "You've got the charges, right?"

"Oh yeah," Olsen chimed ardently, separated from the newly-appointed first officer of the _Enterprise _by the seat occupied by Sulu; he was a handful of years older than the rest of them, with either the self-assurance to match, or else the false bravado to falsify it. His accent was not unlike Valravn's- ostensibly British, though less cut-glass, blurred with a hint of a regional dialect that Jim would never be able to place. "Can't wait to kick some Romulan arse!"

"Uh-huh," Kirk managed to force out, nerves sparking like live wires, the cross-straps fastened over his heart that secured his parachute to his back seeming to constrict into a vice. Directly on his right, Valravn was almost infuriatingly serene- although, if Kirk knew her, a storm was brewing in her blood. In an attempt to distract himself, Jim turned to Sulu on his immediate left.

"So what kind of combat training do you have?"

A proud glint entered his eyes, his irises as dark stones at the bottom of a riverbed. "Fencing," Sulu replied simply.

Kirk envisioned delicate postures, lightweight white-mesh armour and flimsy aluminium foils, and felt his stomach plummet.

"Great."

The interior of the craft shuddered as Pike smoothly piloted them out of the yawning steel jaw of the ship's on-board hangar, sweeping out beyond into the gulf of space between the _Enterprise_ and the _Narada_, delineating towards the planet's thermosphere in a smooth curve.

Kirk gripped the support bars either side of his seat, sensing their destination approaching with alarming speed.

"_Breathe_," he heard uttered liltingly from next to him.

Glancing in her direction, Kirk noticed that Valravn's arctic-blue irises had been quadrupled in intensity by her otherwise monochrome appearance.

"_Breathe_," Kirk echoed, anxiety dissolving somewhat, every muscle in his body coiling with a fresh, crackling tension. "You ready?"

Her eyes snagged on his, focused and determined.

"Try not to worry," she said, almost amused. "The security of the _Enterprise_'ssenior officers is one of my responsibilities. None of you will be dying today if I have anything to do with it."

"_Pre-jump,_" Pike's voice echoed from overhead. The quartet stood immediately, snapping on their respective helmets and sealing the internal atmosphere of the suits, the chamber air-locking with a slam, lights reddening in warning of depressurisation.

"_What are you thinking, V?_" Jim asked, testing the intersuit communication systems implanted in their helmets. His breath echoed back to him in a fog of warm air that condensed and quickly evaporated on the metal.

The reflection of the chamber flashed over the curved faceplate of Valravn's helmet, the black mouthpiece of the respirator hiding what Kirk was certain was an exasperated quirk of her mouth. "_I'm calculating the optimum height to pull our chutes_."

"_You can _do_ that?_"

"_Sure. Unlike Earth, Vulcan's weather systems are fairly predictable and stable, so there are far fewer variables to account for_."

"_Oh. Well then?_"

Kirk could almost see the numbers and equations streaming like a ribbon of film across her irises. "_I would say- between twenty-one and fifteen hundred meters_."

"_That sounds like a pretty big range_," Sulu pointed out, checking the seal of his helmet.

Valravn reply was devoid of mirth, but not entirely lacking in warmth. "_Less so when you're travelling at terminal velocity. Trust me: you will want to pull before a thousand meters, at least_. _Late enough to make your landing and bypass any defence systems on the drill, but not too late that your parachute gets caught in an updraft from the pulse coming from it._"

Sulu's reply inferred a verbal shrug of acceptance. "_You're the expert, Lieutenant_."

"_We are approaching the drop zone,_" Pike's voice interrupted, and four stabilising bars, like levers, dropped from the ceiling with a hiss and slam. The small squadron rose from their seats and gripped the bars above their heads with both hands, assuming the standard position rehearsed innumerable times in the academy's simulator chambers. Gravity dissolved, and all four were slammed back, hard, against the ceiling. "_You have one shot to land on that platform, so make it count. And remember- the _Enterprise_ won't be able to beam you back up until you deactivate the drill._"

Pike paused for the fraction of a heartbeat.

"_Good luck_."

The floor opened up underneath them, and they were ripped out into the vacuum of space.

They plunged into the crushing silence, the bright sting of the planet's sun piercing their periphery as they rocketed through the void. The snarling cable that bore the drill's weight from the _Narada_\- a chain of salvaged scrap fused together, strong and scaled and almost a terrifying metal incarnation of Jörmungandr, the legendary world-snake of Norse mythology- whipped past them in a blur.

All that Kirk could hear was his own forcibly measured breathing. A high, echoing beeping tone rose alongside it, monitoring their height.

The world around faded from infinite black embroidered by distant stars and galaxies into a band of violet, then an almost familiar soft blue. Breaking through the atmosphere, air resistance returned with a vengeance- and Kirk winced, the furious shuddering rattle of solid wind working against him. His airdrop suit began to singe under the immense friction; without it, the force that had met him would not only have incinerated his flesh and scoured it from bone, but have been whipping his head back with enough force to snap his spinal cord.

With a click of a digital connection, Kirk spoke directly to the bridge.

"Kirk to _Enterprise_! Distance to target, five-thousand metres."

Gravity pulled ever harder, leaving them falling at an alarming speed. The wind was slicing past them.

"_Forty-five hundred meters to target!_" Sulu's voice followed, stumbling over the words, keeping frantic pace with the numbers flashing across the top hem of their display. Kirk could hear Olsen breathing heavily.

"Four thousand meters!" Kirk counted off.

It was unlike anything any of them had ever experienced, something that no simulator could have prepared them for. Had the importance of the mission- and not dying- not been so firmly at the forefront of Kirk's mind, he might have been experiencing a thrill fifty times more decadent than whatever he could find on his long-lost motorcycle.

"_Three thousand meters!_" Olsen shouted breathlessly in Kirk's comms speaker. "_Three thousand meters!_"

"Two thousand meters!" Kirk continued, grimacing.

"_Pulling chute!_" Valravn finally spoke, her voice ringing as clearly as struck steel.

Three parachutes deployed. Translucent black blossomed out first, then pale yellow, then cobalt blue. Kirk felt the compartment at the back of his suit snap open, the thin fabric exploding, yanking him back upwards with a tremendous jerk of the harness' bolts. Grappling with the black cords for control, guiding himself towards the circular platform that still seemed far too small, he looked down- and realised that there was a bullet of crimson still streaking down towards the flat, curved metal shell that was their target.

"_Two thousand meters!_"

"Come _on_! Pullyour_ chut_e, Olsen!" Kirk ground out, blood rising in a heated thrumming tidal wave in his ears.

"_No, not yet- not yet!_" The confident grin was audible in the chief engineer's voice. "_Fifteen-hundred meters!_"

"_Olsen, open your chute!_" Sulu urged, beginning to sound as panicked as Kirk felt.

Olsen's reply was a hysterical, whooping laugh of exhilaration.

"_Pull your chute-!_"

"_Olsen!_" Valravn's voice cut through his headset. "_If you overshoot it you'll be sucked into the beam! Now deploy your _god-fucking parachute_!_"

"_One thousand meters!_" Olsen announced, and finally- the security chief's obscenity-spiked warning penetrating his veneer just in time- deployed his parachute, a flash of red billowing out against the plate of the drill's surface.

Kirk watched as though through a distant lens as the crimson parachute was tugged aside sharply by the intense winds. A loud yelp burst through the digital connection in his ear, the sickening sound of a metal-clad body smashing against the edge of the suspension rig- and then the parachute was sucked over and down into the vortex of scorching plasma thundering underneath, dragging the figure that was attached to its cables with it.

There was a strangled scream.

"_Olsen!_" Sulu shouted.

Kirk's gasp was torn from his lungs. An impressively fluent stream of curses issued from Valravn into Jim's communications systems.

The platform was approaching rapidly.

He landed, with an inelegant slam, on the drill's surface, sending him rolling uncontrollably towards the edge. Kirk gripped frantically for the ridges of the platform, gloved hands slipping over soldered edges and rusted plates- and snagged his fingers into a niche just in time. His parachute swelled and wrenched behind him, and Kirk snarled with exertion, his arms aching with the force of the wind trying to tear him off the edge.

The cords slackened for a fraction of an instant, and Kirk let go with one hand, slamming his palm against the button on his chest. The cords pulled, slits appearing in the glossy fabric, the parachute retracting swiftly into the back of Kirk's suit- the powerful tension gone, he dropped with boneless relief onto the drill, groaning.

Kirk pulled off his helmet, still breathing heavily, pushing himself up on his palms.

There was a creak.

Kirk looked up to see the thick metal slab of a hatch opening, a hulking figure clambering out, roused by the banging on the top of the drill.

He didn't pause to think his next move through. Dropping his helmet, Kirk charged, hard, hoping wildly to catch his opponent off-guard.

The startled Romulan drew his weapon- a lethal, bladed instrument that looked disturbingly like a Romulan incarnation of an ancient bayonet- and Kirk grabbed his forearms, shoving as hard as his strength could muster and forcing the muzzle up and away. It fired off, several times, spitting shots of green light upwards that tore through the canopy of Sulu's parachute and narrowly missed Valravn's above it. Kirk, grappling with his opponent, hauled back and punched the Romulan as hard as he could in the jaw.

The slender yet heavy rifle clattered a few feet away, and Kirk ripped a sleek silver phaser out of the holster on his thigh- only to have it smacked clean out of his hand with a guttural snarl, the phaser toppling over the edge and down to the surface of Vulcan.

It was then that a second Romulan emerged from the innards of the drill, looking equally as murderous and a little wider in the shoulders. Kirk gave an internal scream of frustration.

Sulu, meanwhile, was veering wildly, struggling and dropping ever faster as the tension of the cords ripped the scorched gashes in his parachute wider. He drifted past the edge of the platform, and the remnants of the shredded synthetic silk caught in the chains of the suspension rig. Sulu swung, like a marionette, over the rim of the drill, borne in a dangerous arc towards the retina-searing pulse that had consumed Olsen moments before. Fighting himself horizontal mid-arc, Sulu kicked off the steel mouth of the beam, hard, and swung backwards, triggering the withdrawal of his parachute. He was immediately wrenched backwards, drawn up onto the safety of the flat disk of the platform by the swiftly retracting cords- and into the path of a vent expelling six-foot high flames.

Sulu grabbed a seam between two panels, halting short of the gush of fire. Pulling out the leather-wrapped hilt of a blade, he pressed a switch and the sleek razor-steel segments of collapsible sword snapped out in rapid succession, inch by deadly inch. With a single swipe behind his head, Sulu severed the cords attempting to drag him to his death.

Rolling to his feet, the helmsman wrenched off his helmet and squared up to the nearest Romulan, blade aloft. His opponent gave him a look of cold contempt, unsheathing a short staff that transformed into a maliciously spiked axe, and swung.

Sulu gave a sharp clean somersault over the blow, a blur of colour, turning and parrying a second vicious strike, expert swordsmanship put to its original intended use.

As Sulu and his adversary slashed and hacked at each other, Kirk stubbornly dodged and fielded iron-clad hits, striking out with a punch to the throat, only to find the breath knocked from his lungs as he was tossed over the Romulan's shoulder. Dazed, a kick to his ribs almost sent him careening over the hem of the platform- and would have, had his reaction time been anything less than exemplary. Gripping and clinging to the rim of the drill, kicking out in vain search for a foothold, sweat slickening his skin, Kirk shifted his hand just as a leather-booted foot slammed onto the edge where his fingers had been a fraction of a second earlier.

It was at that moment that Valravn finally touched down- a slight distance from her comrades, but with the most safety and accuracy by far, heels dragging across the rusted shell of the drill, kicking up a stream of sparks. She retracted her parachute, caught her balance on her fingertips and vaulted over one arm of the suspension rig, analysing the scene that met her on the other side. Furthest from her, Sulu had just delivered a kick to his opponent's larynx, driving him back onto a heat vent. _Smart move, Helmsman._

Closer to her, however, was her immediate concern: it didn't take a genius to realise why there was a broad-shouldered Romulan cheerfully stomping on the edge of the platform.

In an instinctive, insane move that would have been highly embarrassing had it failed, Valravn unclasped and removed her helmet, and hurled it bodily at the back of the Romulan's head.

The impromptu projectile struck just in time. The combined force of the throw and density of the helmet might have been enough to cave in the back of a human skull- but against a Romulan, whose anatomy was three times as resilient, the only result was a nasty shock and a possible hairline fracture. Its mark turned, caught sight of the slender new interloper clad in black, and stormed towards her, his roughly hewn tattooed features contorting with a fresh wave of rage.

Valravn reached for her closest weapon.

The Romulan gave a sudden hoarse cry. She looked down.

A curved steel blade protruded through his chest, stained with green blood. Sulu retracted the sword, and shoved. The Romulan toppled over the edge, fluttering lifelessly in the updraft as he fell out of sight.

Sulu reached Kirk within seconds, locking his hand around his wrist and hauling him back over to safety, Kirk hooking his leg onto the rig and dragging his body upwards. Valravn approached them as just as they both regained safe footing and collapsed, kneeling and breathing heavily, at her feet.

"_Are you alright_?!" Valravn shouted above the roar of the wind and drill's pulse.

"We're fine-" Sulu began.

"V,_ on your six!_" Kirk bellowed, panicked.

Two more had emerged from the drill, the secondary Romulan guard- and one of them was mere feet away from Valravn, his rifle drawn.

In the ensuing twenty-five seconds, Valravn moved in a way that Kirk would have never believed could be human.

His eye caught a wicked glint of silver at her hip. Valravn spun on her heel sharply, arm whipping out, fingers releasing on the turn- the knife cut the air and took the nearest Romulan in the throat. Turning on her second adversary with cold intent as the first dropped unceremoniously, her new target raised his spiked mace, aiming a shattering blow to her temple. She caught his wrist mid-swing, and the Romulan had only the moment to look surprised before she brought his arm down sharply, his elbow striking upon her knee as it snapped upwards, splintering the bone. He gave a howl of agony, dropping his weapon, right arm limp and the other swinging out wildly like a club. Valravn blocked easily- once, twice, _thrice_\- and then turned her entire body into a graceful arc. She slashed his throat.

Wiping her knife on her gauntlet, cleaning off the peridot blood from the blade and sheathing it as the corpse disappeared over the edge behind her, Valravn turned back to Sulu and Kirk serenely.

She may as well have had ice water in her veins.

Sulu stood, mouth agape, collapsible sword hanging by his side uselessly. Kirk could only stare, lips parted and his heart in his throat, in a blend of admiration and shock and something hot and twisted and wanting. He hadn't seen Valravn move like that since the night he first met her- and even the bar fight she had so easily resolved that night blanched in comparison to the immaculate, almost unearthly efficiency and inhuman lack of fear she had just displayed. Suddenly, Kirk was struck with a realisation: not once over the years had Valravn unleashed her true deadly potential against him or anyone that she had faced in combat, and proved what her deceptively lithe form was capable of when used as a living weapon.

If it had been anyone else stood in front of him in that moment- _anyone_ but Valravn Winter; the same young woman who was secretly terrified of moths (or, as she insisted, _repulsed by them_), yet still chose to capture them under glasses and let them out of the window instead of swatting them- Kirk might have felt slightly disturbed.

_A sword can be a shield._

"_Now what?_" She called to them both, retrieving her knife, dark strands of her fringe escaping her braid and blowing across her eyes. "_Olsen had all the charges!_"

"_I know!_" Jim returned, thinking quickly, glancing around for inspiration.

"_So what do we do?_" Sulu yelled, moving away from the treacherous edge of the platform.

Kirk caught sight of one of the Romulan rifles lying undisturbed where his opponent had dropped it. Something clicked in the back of his mind.

He charged towards it, snatching it up.

"_Look what I found!_" He yelled, flashing a wild smile. "_The off switch!_"

Sulu caught on to his idea quickly, grinning and grabbing the remaining rifle from the Romulan felled by Valravn's knife. Valravn moved aside to where the remnants of Sulu's parachute were still fluttering in the high winds, clearing the way as Kirk and Sulu took up position, orientating themselves with the unfamiliar firearms and locating the stiff triggers.

With a wordless shared nod, they fired a volley of shots at the central panel of the drill's controls, rattling explosions joining the cacophony of the currents of air and bellow of the pulse underneath them as they methodically wreaked havoc on anything that looked on be anything even remotely important to the drill's operation. Valravn threw up her arms, shielding her eyes as a belch of spitting smoke issued from the innards of the drill.

"_James-! _I hope this works!" Valravn shouted.

"_It will!_"

The cell fuelling Kirk's rifle was at thirty-eight percent when a deep groan finally issued from below, and Kirk and Sulu paused; bursts of sparks streamed from the panel and died, the metal mangled, innards of wires fused and twisted and steaming with residual heat. With a struggling, flickering thrum like a colossal blowtorch, the humming underneath their feet halted, and the air finally ceased vibrating. The drill had likely reached the planet's core, but at least it had been stopped.

There was a moment of silence, the arid air oddly still.

"Well," Sulu said, blinking the sweat out of his eyes and dropping his rifle, his tone almost nonchalant. "That was… _horrible_."

Sulu gave a faint grimace that Kirk shared with a short laugh, unable to find a way to amend the understatement into something more accurate. Kirk could tell by Valravn's expression that she had a plethora of suggestions, most likely all impressively vivid and peppered with a few choice expletives that she would somehow make sound like a sonnet.

She never spoke any of them aloud. Her head snapped up to look at the skies, expression clouding over.

"Do you hear that?"

The next instant, there was the drone of something that sounded oddly like an antiquated turbine engine- but clearer, sharper, cutting like knives- and something streaked past them, fanged with an array of silver propellers, stabilising its flight path. The three of them stumbled to the edge of the drill to watch as the device disappeared from sight- into the mouth of the blackened, smoking tunnel where the beam had bored through Vulcan's crust, dust clouds scattering.

They stared down at the expansive, disturbed desert plain for a moment longer, none of them speaking, the rock crust below scorched and churned to splinters, like brittle bone stained with ochre-brown and brick-red dust, baked in the merciless rays of its sun.

"We should contact the _Enterprise_," Sulu said, staring into the gaping void apprehensively.

Kirk wordlessly opened up his communications channel with the _Enterprise_ with a piercing beep.

"Kirk to _Enterprise_," he spoke into the inside edge of his wrist. "They launched something into the planet through the hole they just drilled! Do you copy, _Enterprise_?"

There was nothing. Kirk stewed with impatience.

"They're probably just flooded," Valravn proposed. "The ship took a substantial amount of damage, and we only just restored the ship's communications. Try them again."

"Kirk to _Enterprise_!" Jim repeated clearly into his communicator. "_Beam us out of here_!"

A low female voice replied efficiently. "_Stand by. Locking on your signal._"

"Good," Sulu said grimly. "I don't like it here."

No sooner had he spoken than the arms of the suspension rig creaked tremulously, screaming as they grated against their massive bolts, the drill tipping, swaying as it began to move- recalled and retracted into the _Narada_. Kirk lost his balance and fell to his knees, the shock of pain echoing through him in a ripple, catching himself in a relatively safe position on the tilting platform. He heard someone else do the same a few feet to his left, and looked up.

"_We can't lock on- don't move, don't move-!_"

Kirk wasn't listening- on the rim of the drill, a figure toppled out of sight.

His thought in that single instant was fragmented, but simple. _Comrade. Danger. Falling._

In a blaze of blind instinct, Jim sprinted to the edge and hurled himself after them.

* * *

_Valravn Winter does not feel fear._

It was a lie; a convenient one, but a lie. Valravn Winter _did_ feel fear, felt her fears infinitely deeper and stronger and more intimately than anyone who had ever accused her otherwise. The difference was that she felt it seldom, and almost never for herself.

And on the rare occasion when she did feel fear, she never let it control her.

But as she saw a blur of cerulean dive over the edge of the drill platform, as she watched horrified as a threads of light enveloped her vision and tore her away before she could do anything, as her body rematerialized and was reconstructed particle for particle on the retina-searing light panels of the transporter pad aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, Valravn felt as though her heart had been left behind in Vulcan's airspace, the hollow in her chest convulsing in panic. Valravn had never, _never_, been so frightened in her entire life.

"Sulu fell without a parachute!" Valravn vaulted to her feet, stepping off the transporter pad. "Kirk went after him, he's trying to slow his descent so you can lock onto their signal- his parachute is still functional."

"Understood!"

The technicians went to work with frantic speed, and Valravn took deep breaths, willing herself to let them do their jobs without her potentially fatal interference. _Don't die, James. Please don't die. You're not allowed to die. Not you. _Not you. _Please._

It was a selfish plea, but in that moment Valravn couldn't have cared less.

* * *

Kirk pressed his arms to his sides and dropped, vertical, straight as an arrow, plummeting towards Sulu- the helmsman had spread himself almost perfectly flat in an attempt to force air resistance to slow his descent, however minimally. Angling his arms and grimacing against the razor wind, Kirk made his target.

"_Sulu_!"

They collided in a crash of armoured limbs. It knocked the air out of his lungs, but somehow Kirk managed to grapple around Sulu's torso, the two of them spiralling, and found the breath to yell above the wind, "_I got you! Now pull my chute!_"

Sulu slammed his hand onto the button on Kirk's chest.

The parachute deployed.

And with a screaming wrench, the bolts _snapped_. The cords and intact parachute tore clean away, fluttering weightlessly above them.

* * *

"_Kirk to _Enterprise_! We're falling without a chute! Beam us up!_"

"I'm trying-! I can't get a lock on your signal, you're moving too fast-"

Valravn wanted to scream, pace, break her own knuckles punching some inanimate object, rip the technician away from the controls and do it herself. Some small and miraculously sane part of her brain reminded her of how unprofessional each option would be- especially the latter; with her fingers shaking so badly with adrenaline, she knew she would do more harm than good- and her pride balked at the idea of revealing such high, unbridled emotion to subordinate officers.

Instead she bit down into of her inner cheek, focusing on the pain radiating from the clench of her molars on the soft flesh, ignoring the sting behind her eyes and the heat rising to the surface of her skin.

The technician was tapping away frantically at her screen, eyes widening underneath heavy black liner with panic- when none other than Pavel Andreievich Chekov exploded in into the chamber in a blur of gold and an ungainly skittering of adolescent slender limbs.

"- move, move! _Give me the manual controls_! I can do that, I can get a lock!"

Valravn didn't even have the opportunity to feel surprised by his presence before his words sparked a bolt of blind hope.

The transporter chief jumped aside obediently as Chekov took her place, leaning over the screen, his eyes fierce and alight as he switched from automatic to manual controls. Kirk's voice was nothing more than an incoherent slurry through the communications speaker, tinny and too distant, but Valravn forced herself to listen to every mangled syllable.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on-!" Chekov urged him, his touch delicate, swift and precise on the console. "Hold on- compensating gravitational pull, _and_-!"

Valravn heard the high familiar drone of the beam, and turned just in time to see a silhouette of light materialising above the transporter pad. One of the dome-light markers lit up in warning, preparing for an imminent arrival-

"_Gotcha!_" Chekov cried.

With a shattering of the beam-light surrounding them, Kirk and Sulu arrived in a dented heap on the transporter pad of _Enterprise_\- battered and breathless, but safe- and very much alive. Chekov gave a shout of jubilant, triumphant Russian, bounding up from his seat with a grin.

Valravn could taste metal. There was blood welling in her mouth, streaming from a ragged gash bitten deep into the inside her cheek, but none of it mattered.

The moment she saw Kirk- groaning and bruised, rolling over onto his hands and knees gingerly- Valravn pivoted towards Chekov, swallowed the blood on her tongue, and gave him a grateful smile more brilliant than the brightest star in the galaxy.

Chekov returned her smile wholeheartedly, and gave a slight, understanding nod, a silent shadow passing behind his grey eyes.

Still recovering on the floor of the transporter pad, two figures- one in sapphire-blue, the other in pale yellow- regained their bearings, slightly stunned by the abrupt end to their ordeal.

"Thanks," Sulu gasped out the moment that he had relocated his voice, peeling himself off the surface of the pad.

Kirk gave perhaps the most blasé reply possible. "No problem."

His eyes met Valravn's, and he forced out a genuine grin.

With a slight laugh that emerged more as a trembling sigh to regain her composure, Valravn turned to make a swift exit, intent on debriefing with the acting captain and receiving her subsequent orders.

She was less than three steps into the gleaming exterior hallway- her jet-black armour, stained in soot and Romulan blood, incongruent against the immaculate luminous white- when she saw Spock striding towards her purposefully, strapping a utility belt around his waist.

Valravn halted. "Sir?"

"Step aside, Lieutenant."

Valravn obeyed in a single fluid step, letting her superior officer pass, but was immediately at his heels.

"Please tell me that you are not going to the surface," she said, hardening.

"The Vulcan High Council will be in the _katric_ ark. It was designed to resist all kinds of radiation; transporter waveforms will not penetrate, therefore I must evacuate them myself," Spock stated.

Valravn's gaze froze over as they re-entered the transporter room. "Sir, have you _completely_ lost your mind? Excuse my liberal use of hyperbole- human mannerism- but that is almost _literally suicide_."

"Clear the pad," Spock shot in Sulu and Kirk's direction. Both of them stood unsteadily, moving off the raised platform with clear confusion; Kirk's gaze darted between the science officer grimly taking position on the pad, and Valravn, straight and sharp as a dagger in her armour. "If Vulcan is to be destroyed by the singularity forming at its core, its culture must be preserved through the High Council."

"Wait- you're going _down there_?" Kirk asked, incredulous. "What are you, _nuts_?!"

"Not exactly the most eloquently phrased question, but apropos," Valravn bit out underneath her breath with growing frustration, turning her attention back to Spock and stepping onto the hem of the pad. "Sir, if you insist on going to the surface, allow me to accompany you. The safety of bridge officers is my personal duty and, as acting captain, it would be a gross oversight to go to a known hazardous environment without some form of security."

Spock fixed her with a solid look- one that spoke to something half-desperate and determined behind his tightly controlled demeanour- and Valravn knew that he would listen to no argument she could make, valid or otherwise.

Any further protests would only waste time.

"Your presence would only make for an additional target lock for the return beaming," Spock said coolly. "While your dedication to your responsibilities is duly noted and admirable, Lieutenant Winter, I must ask you to step aside."

Valravn, her silence serving as a wordless protest, took a step back.

"Spock!" Kirk said, alarmed. "Spock, you can't do this!"

Spock knelt, his posture impeccable in the beaming pose, shoulders set like stone. "Energise."

"_Spock_!"

The light swelled, and faded. He was already gone.


	9. Chapter IX: Impact

_**A/N**: _So-_ first order of business. Kudos must go to my reviewer **BlackTithe**, who figured out the meaning behind my hint! *claps* If you don't like spoilers, don't check their review._

_Second: I've realised that the dates I've been using from the _Kobayashi Maru_ test onwards are _slightly_ off. Having done some calculations, according to the stardate Spock gives on his acting captain's log in the film, the events take place in late May, early June- the third of June being the exact date of the log (assuming that 2258 isn't a leap year- and yes, yes I did think of that). So my dates were off by about three weeks. Considering I dated it on an approximate guess originally, though, that's not terrible. It also gives me a few extra weeks to play with, before the _Enterprise_ leaves on its maiden twelve-month mission- which I think I'll place as starting at the start of September, since the scenes of London in _Into Darkness_ seem to be at around about mid-autumn; and I figure the crew arrives back on Earth and has three or four weeks of leave before Kirk gets called out by Pike, making it October when 'Harrison' attacks Starfleet. So, three months after the end of the incident with Nero for Pike's recovery, reparations to the _Enterprise_, graduation and organisation of its new crew, plus… other stuff. _Eheehee_._

_Also, in case you missed the implication above- yes, I am British, born and raised (though I have never actually visited London; but will be, in a matter of weeks, to see the Alexander McQueen fashion exhibition)- if that wasn't obvious already. (*waves cheerfully across various oceans to all her American, Australian, Swedish, Romanian, Austrian, French, Canadian, Irish, Malaysian, Sri Lankan, Singaporean, South African, Croatian, German, Philippine, Finish, Indian, Italian, Brazilian, Chilean, Spanish, Thai, Danish, Kiwi, Dutch, Algerian, Portuguese, Belgian, South Korean, Mexican, Icelandic, Russian, Albanian, Greek, Chinese, Arabic, Slovenian, Czech, Puerto Rican, Polish, Swiss, Indonesian, Moroccan, Uruguayan, Pakistani, Hong Kongese, Bulgarian, Israeli, Kuwaiti, Argentinian, and Barbadian readers*)_

_Also, as you can see from above, I looked at the manifesto of people who have viewed this story, and from where- and you span the entire globe! That's- _insane_! Thank you all _so much_ for your support. You have no idea how much it means to me._

_Oh, but exams, though._ EXAMS._ I'm retaking both of my Chemistry papers from last year as well. The revision is killing me already- so be warned that I may be irregular (okay, even_ more_ irregular) with my updates over the next few months._

_Anyway- without further ado, and because so much happens in this chapter- let's begin._

* * *

IX  
_Impact_

The world was breaking around him. Ancient stone was cracking, buckling and subsiding. Sheets of molten rock erupted from the mouths of volcanoes whose extinction had long predated his birth, the volcanoes that had given the planet its name in Federation English, surging up anew and spewing sulphurous clouds of smoke that darkened the skies. In the distance, mountains that had stood for millennia crumbled like sand.

Spock did not wait- only for the prescribed amount of time it took for his body to fully rematerialize- but in that moment, the sight destruction of the planet he had grown up on was burned into his mind, seared into his memory, etched upon his heart.

There was no stopping it.

He turned and sprinted up the mountain, boulders breaking away and tumbling down the steep rock face, his eyes fixed on the winged entrance to the ark.

* * *

"A _singularity_? You're _sure_?"

"The readings are unmistakable," Chekov confirmed, pale but steely. The surviving members of the task force were gathered around the chief navigation officer, ensconced behind the translucent panel that separated the technicians from the recently empty transporter pad. "The technology that created it is something beyond even theoretical research, but the energy signatures are clear. We have less than minutes."

"How far are we from minimum safe distance?" Sulu asked.

"Far enough that we would have leave within the next two hundred and fifty seconds to avoid the event horizon," Chekov said, checking the instrumentation transferred from his station on the bridge to the screen before him.

"Too close to Vulcan and we will be destroyed with it. Too far from the surface and we won't be able to beam Captain Spock and the Vulcan High Council on board," Valravn summarised, meeting Kirk's eyes, coolly expectant. Kirk had long since become fluent in the nuances of Valravn's silent glances, to the point where he would argue that it was the one and only language in the galaxy that he knew, and would always know, better than Uhura.

"Contact the bridge. Tell them to get us to the maximum distance where we still maintain consistent transporter capabilities to the surface of Vulcan." Kirk suddenly found himself issuing orders as confidently as though he had been doing so for years. "The second that Spock and the Council beam aboard, notify the helm to haul ass out of here as fast as Engineering can push the engines."

Chekov drew the appropriate communication channels on the screen before him immediately. "Aye, si- ah," he cut himself off, glancing up cautiously at the Starfleet cadet that he had last seen walking off the bridge with Pike, and who apparently wasn't even supposed to be aboard the vessel in the first place.

"First officer," Valravn supplied from beside Kirk's shoulder.

Chekov looked mildly startled. His gaze flicked to the helmsman momentarily for confirmation.

"Pike promoted him." Sulu explained succinctly.

Chekov turned and began carrying out Kirk's orders.

"Until then," Valravn suddenly stripped her glove- her hand delicate and startlingly pale in comparison to her smoke and blood-stained black EV suit- and pressed her hand against the wall. It scanned her palm and fingertips with a razor of light, gave an affirmative beep, and the panel next to it slid aside to reveal a medical kit. "The medical department will be swarmed. Neither of you look to be on the verge of collapsing, but we should check you over quickly here, as a precaution- or else McCoy will have my head. Well, he could _try_ to take it, anyway- but then again, I don't trust anyone with a range of sedatives at their disposal-"

Kirk began to protest. "V, we're fine- couple of bruises, nothing broken, and I'm sure they need us-"

"All we can do for now is wait," Valravn sliced through the honey in his tone with frost, selecting the standard medical tricorder and turning to face them, biting down on the cuff of her remaining glove and ripping off with her teeth. She let the flexible fabric drop once it was free of her fingers, kicking it back against the wall, holding the instrument aloft with a hitched brow. Kirk gaped at her slightly, never able to force himself to expect her rare shows of audacity- or feel less turned on by them. "And neither of you will serve any purpose on this ship if you die of organ failure. So are you both going to cooperate with me and let me make sure your insides are intact," her tone darkened, "or must I find a way _persuade_ you?"

Kirk sighed, before exchanging a glance with Sulu, feeling a fresh wave of comradeship that felt inevitable after almost dying and risking their lives to save each other.

"She means that, by the way."

"Thought so, somehow," Sulu said dryly, and wisely stepped forwards for examination without resistance.

* * *

The chamber was cool and shadowed, dominated by beautiful towering stone sculptures of Vulcans who had long since departed their physical lives; on his periphery, Spock caught sight of one with its hand raised in an elegant Vulcan salute, another bearing a polearm that he knew but could not put a name to- but his attention was focused on the effigy at the centre. The figure was cut from the same rock as its fellows, gently weathered like copper ore and exquisite in its detail, and one that a Human might have been forgiven for mistaking for an angel at first glance; its head was tilted heavenwards, arms opened and slightly upraised in a universal gesture of benevolence and peaceful acceptance.

Gathered around its base were the Vulcan elders, joined in a singular mind-meld.

Spock vaulted the flight of stone steps, the ancient walls quaking in their foundations, fragments of stone cracking and falling from the vaulted ceiling all around him. The single incongruous figure on the perimeter of the circle stood at the sight of Spock- a feminine form draped in thick robes of teal and bronze weave, head wrapped in a golden scarf, a necklace of pitted amber at her throat.

Amanda Grayson stared at her son in shock, her gaze edged by a flicker of irrepressible maternal fear.

"_Spock _-?"

"The planet has only seconds left, we must evacuate," Spock announced as soon as he was close enough to be heard over the rumbling of rock grinding on breaking rock.

He watched, as though through a lens, as the elders jolted from the collective mind-meld into the physical realm- Spock saw his father glance urgently at his fellows, their collective reaction sharp and stoically swift- and immediately they began to make for the circular tunnel entranceway of the _katric_ ark.

"Mother, now," Spock urged, reaching for her.

She took his outstretched hand, and Spock anchored himself upon its firm warmth, his grip strong with adrenaline and the fierce maelstrom churning in his chest, the floor beginning to shake ever more violently, a dislodged statue toppling like a column, massive skull cracking as it crashed behind them, beheading the figure.

They wound through the tunnels in a blur, the sound of the destruction outside crushing in on them, and Spock kept an arm wrapped around his mother, her right hand still clasped tightly around and inside his, his father and the other elders close at their backs. The dust was invading his lungs and the passageway was on the verge of collapsing in on itself but Spock kept running, ignoring the gaping hollow inside his chest that felt dangerously like terror and grappling instead onto his mission to get those he could out _alive_.

They burst from the mouth of the tunnel and stumbled to a halt on the cliff shelf outside, the blue skies of the dying Vulcan shrouded beyond reach with billowing clouds of taupe smoke- the apocalyptic sight that might have been twistedly beautiful, had it not inspired such crushing dread.

Spock snapped open his communicator, his mother's shaking, tightly gripping hand tucked safely into the crook of his elbow, and almost shouted into the receiver, fingers trembling. He told himself that it was adrenaline, a biochemical quirk due to his human genetics.

"Spock to _Enterprise_! Get us out _now_!"

It was Chekov's voice that replied. "_Locking volume! Don't move- stay right where you are_."

It was a surreal dream, or a nightmare. The mountains, the planes, even the lava heaving upwards from deep underground was crumbling and falling away, collapsing like a wave, nothing beneath to support it any longer, swallowed into the singularity forming underneath their feet. Amanda looked on in horror- and Spock, who had always been so starkly aware of the cosmic scale of measurement of a single life, had never felt the fragility of life so strongly before that moment.

"_Transport in five… four…_"

Amanda turned towards her son. Her dark eyes- the eyes she had given to him- swirled with a blend of tender warmth, overwhelming love, a sudden realisation, reflecting the wisps of light wrapping around her-

"_\- three-_"

\- and Spock was suddenly remembering an event years past, stood in front of her while considering purging the last vestiges of emotion and completing the discipline of Kolinahr, hearing his mother passionately defend his freedom to choose who he wanted to be in her unabashedly emotional human way of hers and _why did he think of that_-

"_\- two-_"

_The shelf of the cliff was slipping away._

Amanda Grayson was suddenly yanked away, and Spock's heart lurched with her.

"_Mother-!_"

Light enveloped his vision- and then he was standing safely on the transporter pad of the _Enterprise_, arm still thrown out desperately and reaching for something that wasn't there, something ripped away from him.

No one spoke.

Spock lowered his hand slowly, his breathing thick, stippled and smudged in the dust and dirt of his dying home planet. Taking a shaking step forwards, loud in the stillness, his eyes- his _mother's_ eyes, a common yet gentle, warm shade of distinctly human brown- fell to the curved of glass installed into the floor of the pad, next to his own, a blinding light glowing underneath, where she should have been standing.

Spock felt- _felt so strongly, he could barely breathe_\- bereft and hollow, something torn and shaking violently inside him with shock.

When Spock finally forced himself to look away from the light, unblinking, his eyes burning, he somehow found himself looking directly at James Kirk.

In that moment, steady blue irises looked back into Spock, containing nothing but pure compassion.

* * *

_May 16, 2258 – U.S.S._ Enterprise, _Alpha Quadrant_

Valravn understood grief intimately.

It was a bitter adversary that she had battled many times over, bearing countless invisible scars where it had driven its blunt knives between her ribs and into her heart. Valravn had lost plenty in her short life. People who were close to her knew some pieces, fragments of her past that she had let slip- but no single person knew it from start to finish.

She had barely had the luxury of a childhood. It was the curse of being too smart too young, of being noticed by the Federation and recruited- unofficially, of course, up until her enrolment in Starfleet in her teenage years- before most children had learned to spell three-syllable words. She had lost the woman who had loved her unconditionally when she was twelve to a wasting disease that had been caught too late by the doctors. She had grieved for her dead mother, and with it she had grieved for her homeland of verdant cathedrals of woodland and glass-steel towers and ornately carved stone and cool rain that Valravn had simply _had_ to leave behind, no less forced than if someone had held a phaser to her temple. And then she had mentally dragged herself, kicking and screaming, into accepting the loss of her heart to someone who might never know that they possessed it and would never feel the same way about her. It was melodramatic, and that disgusted her, but Valravn could never see her way to feeling the way she did about James Tiberius Kirk- that, given the opportunity, she could fall in love with him very, _very_ quickly if only he let her- about anyone else in the galaxy. And now, even now, she was preparing herself to feel the loss of the only family she had left.

Valravn was accustomed- _too accustomed_, she was beginning to realise, or maybe she had been spoilt for too long- to loss. She understood grief, and she knew its scent like a wild animal knows the warning scent of blood- cooling saltwater of tears, the strange blurred tang that invaded, the metaphysical hollow ever present at the corners of the mind.

And so, as the survivors of Vulcan mourned, she understood.

The _Enterprise_ rescued every refugee they could, the utmost kindness shown to the Federation allies whose devastation was palpable even in spite of their logic-centred philosophy. Despite their austerity, the Vulcan people were beloved of humans, who felt so openly and unashamedly in contrast. Spock, for his part, continued his newfound duties with an efficiency that might have been mistaken as mechanical, perhaps even callous, in light of his personal loss.

However, Valravn knew that sometimes it was better to decide not to feel.

She had wondered on more than one occasion if anything she could say would help, before realising that her words could hardly penetrate whatever walls the commander, now acting captain, had erected around himself. It would take a certain weapon to pierce through his exterior, one designed specifically for that purpose- more of a key to a lock that a blade- and Valravn knew that it was not her. She left Spock instead in Uhura's hands, hoping that her limitless patience and the cast-iron bond she had witnessed between them would be enough.

Valravn, on her own part, was well versed in compartmentalising things. She locked her personal thoughts away neatly, and remade herself- concerned for the safety of her captain, not her family, protecting comrades and not personal friends, trying to prevent the destruction of a nameless planet and not her homeworld. _Fear is a luxury I cannot afford_. She knew the uncontrollable strength of her moods, how volatile it made her, how it could easily detonate if she let so much as a crack show- so she worked tirelessly, preventing self-destruction by blocking out everything but the mission. Not a single crewmember questioned the _Enterprise_'s chief of security, who they were all quickly learning was to be trusted and not feared. Valravn walked from hull to nacelle, fore to aft, unimpeded, seeming to be everywhere at once, keeping her entire department running as smoothly as possible around the other sectors, orchestrating the many reparations and weapons checks that had somehow fallen to her, all the while burning to personally hunt down those who had dared to attack _her_ vessel. A starship and her crew might be under the protection of her captain, but her captain was under the protection of the chief security officer- _my champion_, Kirk had once called her. Nero, his crew, the _Narada_, they had killed George Kirk- nearly killed his wife and newborn _son_; Valravn's throat sickened at just the thought of never meeting James Kirk, but she quickly garrotted the thought and stowed it away alongside everything else- slaughtered billions of innocents with an air of smug superiority, almost as though it was _justice_.

Valravn decided that, whatever their insane motivation, it wasn't enough to justify this- _an eye for an eye, and the world goes blind_.

She didn't sleep for two days. And she avoided Kirk- for his sake, and her own.

"Where is she, Bones?"

"The hell should _I_ know?"

"_Bones_," Kirk ground out.

His tone made the doctor pause momentarily. McCoy turned from the screen where he had been verifying medical data in the system- a task that should have been taken on by one of the doctors below him, since he had inherited the position of chief medical officer by virtue of capability, but casualties were still being counted and posts left to be reassigned, leaving Bones as the only one who had current clearance to do so. Though frustrating, McCoy had to admit that a certain chief officer and her department was carving impressively through the mess left by Nero's attack, their work making things considerably easier in the other divisions.

With that starkly appropriate thought at the forefront of his mind, he looked at Kirk. Aside from the bruise echoing his cheekbone- blood clotted underneath the skin in stippled red, the flushed colour marking rapid healing, accented by two small lacerations- Jim was, as ever, relatively unscathed, still dressed in ambiguous black. He worked his bandaged hand reflexively, testing the wrapping around his palm that was supporting the healing bones, shattered from when he had landed awkwardly on the transport pad.

"I _don't know_, Jim," McCoy repeated slowly. Kirk glared at him balefully, and McCoy heaved an exasperated sigh. "She's the head of an operations division that happens to cover the entirety of the ship. Raven is a busy woman and, believe it or not, I'm a busy man. I'm not her supervisor or her mother, and if I tried to act like it she'd have me in a headlock faster than you could say 'one woman army'."

"Where did you see her last?" Kirk pressed him stubbornly.

"_Here_," McCoy replied with emphatic irritation. "She got a message on her PADD from operations requesting her presence and assistance on the weapons deck, and she left." He hesitated for a second too long, and McCoy saw Kirk's expression change, like a predator noticing a limp in the prey it had been patiently stalking. "Alright, _fine_. I told her to get some sleep as soon as she was done. I had to break out the warnings about making a mistake on duty because of sleep deprivation, but I got her to agree. Raven's stubborn, not stupid- a good patient for the most part. She knows the risks. She promised me that she would be done with an hour, maybe an hour and fifteen."

"How long ago?"

McCoy checked the clock on his PADD. "About an hour and fifteen."

Kirk turned and all but sprinted for the doorway, his stride so powerful that McCoy felt a kick of air against him. Honestly, he was surprised that Kirk hadn't simply ploughed straight through the wall.

"_Jim_!"

Kirk halted with a groan. "Oh, _what_?"

"You feeling alright?"

He rolled his eyes at the question. "Yeah, fine, look, I've gotta-"

"Jim." McCoy adopted his authoritative doctor's voice to force his friend to pay attention. "I mean it. Are you okay? Or, as okay as you can be considering that the people responsible for killing your father have crawled out of the woodwork?"

Kirk deflated slightly. "I'm honestly fine," he reassured him with a weak smile. "I'm- _dealing_. You know."

McCoy levelled him with a careful, evaluating glare, before nodding, content. "In that case- give Raven some breathing space."

"_What?!_" Jim said incredulously, staring at McCoy as though he had lost his mind.

"She's got a lot on her plate right now-" McCoy continued, turning back to the translucent floating screen and slotting a few files into place in the digital organiser.

"And you think me staying away from her will _help_ that?!"

McCoy glared at Jim, jerking his head towards the wards warningly, silently telling him to lower his voice.

Kirk glowered, simmering in silence.

"Look, Jim. We both know that whenever she's under pressure or she's dealing with personal issues, Raven closes herself up tighter than a clam. You go prodding away at her, she'll only close up tighter- or bite your fingers off. It's a defence mechanism." Kirk crossed his arms over his chest, annoyance inundating the air around him like an aura. McCoy snorted derisively. "Yeah, I know you like to think that you're the beginning and end of all knowledge of Raven Winter, but the rest of us pick up on stuff too, you know. If you don't believe me, just ask Uhura. You try and coddle her now, Jim, and she'll only push you away, and I know you don't want that."

Kirk's internal conflict showed, his eyes caught somewhere between frustrated- signalling that McCoy was telling him something he had already known, but tried to ignore- and despairing. "Then I don't know what _else_ to do. I can't do anything."

"Yes you _can_: be_ patient_ with her. You're good at that- you've been in love with her for long enough," McCoy said firmly, but not without some gentleness- he could see how besotted Jim was with Valravn, desperately trying to wrap her up in cotton wool and shield her from everything that the barely-fledging crew of the _Enterprise_ had been hurled into while simultaneously flirting with her at every opportunity, and it was bizarrely sweet. But Valravn was fiercely proud, independent and aloof- McCoy suspected that it was part of the reason that Jim had been so infatuated with her, at the start, almost delighting in her coldness and in trying stubbornly to thaw her; opposites attracted, after all. Kirk's charm had coaxed her into his warmth, and it was obvious that she liked it there, but old habits die hard. "This is her way of coping- and she _needs_ to cope with this, because she has responsibilities that won't wait for her. When this is over and she's not focused on making sure that the ship doesn't get blown up, you'll probably be the first person she comes to."

Kirk set his jaw, and nodded stiffly.

"I- I _do_ love her, you know, Bones," he confessed tightly. "Really."

A smile twitched at the doctor's mouth. "Yeah, I know. I think the whole damn galaxy knows, except for her."

* * *

_May 17, 2258 – U.S.S._ Enterprise, _Alpha Quadrant_

"Have you confirmed that Nero is headed for Earth?"

"Their trajectory suggests no other destination, Captain," Uhura replied, turning to face Spock where she was seated at the illuminated terminal built against the back wall, by now widely considered the _de facto_ chief of communications.

Valravn watched the measured exchange, her seat swivelled away from her station, one leg crossed nearly over the other and her ankle straightened, braid gathered over one shoulder and the wings of the charm on her hair cuff skimming along blood-red fabric her clothes freshly changed after several hours of deep, aching sleep in her quarters. The ambiance on the bridge was reminiscent of how Valravn imagined that it would have been when the legendary knights of Camelot were gathered around the Round Table; almost every senior officer had turned their seats inwards, each on an equal standing regardless of actual rank for the purposes of planning their defence and counterattack. Yet Valravn couldn't help but notice that the person who commanded a natural magnetic pull that was expected of their personal King Arthur was not, as it logically should have been, the acting captain and science officer thanking Uhura for her report- but rather the young man currently slouched in the captain's chair as though it were a throne, crowned in golden hair, focused and determined.

Kirk had said nothing to Valravn. He had acknowledged her when stepped onto the bridge with a brief glance of warm solidarity- no more and no less- and for that she was grateful.

"Earth may be his next stop, but we have to assume that every Federation planet is a target," Kirk said, eyes piercing into the distance, constructing thoughts and plans that no one else could see.

"_Out of the chair_," Spock commanded tonelessly as he passed.

Startled and mildly annoyed, Kirk rose from the seat and walked away from the sculpted white and supple black leather, McCoy behind him, standing off to the side with a grimly contemplative look that Valravn had rarely, if ever, seen before.

"If the Federation is a target- why didn't they destroy us?" Chekov asked, looking over his shoulder at Sulu, positioned at the station beside him, and Spock, gliding around the navigation terminal inscrutably. "Why the other ships but not the _Enterprise_? They clearly had the ability to do so."

"It makes no sense strategically speaking," Valravn added in agreement, and was both bemused and pleasantly surprised when she sensed the atmosphere change, the attention of the bridge shifting towards her- the senior officer present who, admittedly, as security chief and the combat and hostile missions specialist, had the highest level of expertise and authority in the debate. She straightened her ankle, pointing the toe of her boot self-consciously. "Starfleet may be a peaceful exploration and research institute at heart, but in the event of threats to federal security, it's still the Federation's first line of defence. The survival of the _Enterprise_ ensured that we could contact the rest of Starfleet about the potential attack, meaning that the crew of _Narada_ has automatically lost the element of surprise. No matter which way you look at it, it was a horrible tactical mistake on their part."

"But why _would_ they bother destroying us?" Sulu interjected. "Why waste a weapon? We obviously weren't a threat. If they had greater goals in mind, finishing off a single seriously damaged starship it would have just been wasting time."

"That is not it," Spock said decisively. "He said he wanted me to see something- the destruction of my home planet."

"How in the hell did they do that, by the way?" McCoy finally spoke up, unable to contain himself, directing the question at the acting captain. "I mean, where did the Romulans _get_ that kind of weaponry? I'm not up to speed with the technological details- that's more yours and Lieutenant Winter's area of expertise- but I know enough about alien weaponry to know how to fix the damage it does, at least on a personal level. But I've never seen or read about anything like this. If something like destructive power they have was out there, we should have heard something about it."

"It is self-evident that a vast technological leap such as this cannot take place over a short period of time, even if the exact parameters are left to speculation due to our lack of sufficient data. However, the engineering comprehension necessary to artificially create a black hole may suggest an answer," Spock replied evenly, and suddenly Valravn found her spine straightening with realisation, something snapping into place: the advanced technology, the unrecognizable design of the _Narada_ and its bizarre first appearance, even the cryptic manner in which Nero spoke. _Not yet,_ he had said to Spock when he had said that they had never met- a promise and a prediction and an old grudge combined in two short words. "Such technology could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through space-time."

Kirk narrowed his eyes in disbelief, and McCoy gave an outburst of exasperation.

"Damn it, man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist! Are you _actually_ suggesting they're from the future?"

"_Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_," Spock quoted.

"How poetic," McCoy grumbled, even as the implications quietly settled over the bridge like a layer of ash. _Future. Time travel. As though things couldn't possibly become stranger._

"Then what would an angry future Romulan want with Captain Pike?" Kirk drawled sceptically.

"He does know as many details of Starfleet's defences as any admiral," Sulu pointed out, glancing towards Spock. Valravn noticed Uhura hovering in front of her station, mouth pursed with increasing uncertainty.

Kirk ignored this comment. "What we need to do at this point is catch up to that ship, disable it, take it over and get Pike back."

"I'm in," McCoy muttered.

Valravn sighed, index finger at her throbbing temple, thumb braced at the edge of her jaw, and swivelled slightly to face Jim with a look of profound boredom. "And _how_ exactly do you propose we do that? We are outclassed by the _Narada_ in every way."

"Lieutenant Winter is correct," Spock agreed, standing with his back to the viewing screen, hands clasped behind him. "A rescue attempt would be illogical."

"Nero's ship would have to drop out of warp for us to overtake them," Chekov commented.

"Then what about assigning engineering crews to try and boost our warp yield?" Kirk asked, thinking admirably quickly.

"Remaining power and crew are being used for repairing radiation leaks on the lower decks-" Spock began immediately.

"Okay, _alright_-" Jim attempted to cut him off as he strode down from the platform towards where Spock was stood with mounting aggravation.

"- and damage to subspace communications, without which we cannot contact Starfleet-"

"- well, there's got to be _some way_-!"

"We must gather with the rest of Starfleet to balance the terms of the next engagement," Spock said resolutely, staring Kirk down.

"There won't _be_ a next engagement," Kirk argued. "By the time we've gathered and redeployed, it'll be too late. You say that Nero's from the future, that he knows what's going to happen? That he knows _you_? Then the _logical_ thing is to be _unpredictable_."

"You are assuming that Nero knows how events are predicted to unfold," Spock countered solidly. "The contrary, Nero's very presence has altered the flow of history, beginning with the attack on the U.S.S. _Kelvin_, culminating in the events of today, thereby creating an entire new chain of incidents that cannot be anticipated by either party."

"An alternate reality," Uhura concluded with a hint of awe.

There was a slight collective intake of breath on the bridge.

"Precisely," Spock said, throwing Kirk a sharp stare before walking away calmly. Valravn could read the annoyance in the way Kirk's shoulders were set. "Whatever our lives might have been, if the time continuum was disrupted, our destinies have changed."

Spock halted before the captain's chair and took his seat.

"Mr Sulu, plot a course for the Laurentian system, Warp Factor Three."

"Spock. Don't do that," Kirk was quickly at his heels, at the arm of the captain's chair, his calmly persuasive tone slipping. "Running back to the rest of the fleet for a- a _confab_ is a massive waste of time! How many planets are you willing to risk before we catch up to him?"

"These are orders issued by Captain Pike when he left the ship-" Spock shot back.

"He also ordered us to go back and get him, and we have a duty to him- look, if we can stop them from getting the information out of him in the first place-"

Valravn dropped his head with a noiseless exhale, the argument raging on with escalating fierceness. _So like you, James, to be so focused on the best possible outcome that you forget the logistics and end up improvising your way there. One day, you'll have to realise that you're not infallible._

"Spock, you are _captain_ now, you have to make-"

"I am aware of my responsibilities, Mr Kirk-"

_And yet James still has a point,_ Valravn amended internally with a bitter smile. _A captain cannot blindly follow protocol. They have to make their own decisions, often beyond what is prescribed by guidelines- and that is something that Spock cannot see. Just as James can't see the merit of Spock's logic._

"Every second we waste, Nero's getting closer to his next target!" Kirk erupted, the acting captain's taciturn demeanour finally grating on him enough to reduce him to irate frustration.

"That is correct, and why I am instructing you to accept the fact that I alone am in command."

"I will not allow us to go _backwards_-" Kirk began viciously.

"Jim, he's the captain-" McCoy interposed, sensing that things were spiralling beyond all semblance of control as the exchange between Spock and Kirk became increasingly icy and heated.

"- away from the problem, instead of hunting Nero _down_!"

It was then that Valravn heard the words she had been bleakly anticipating.

"Security, escort him out," Spock commanded, standing abruptly.

The order was not aimed in her direction, but rather at two of her subordinates assigned to the bridge for practical security, red-shirted and solidly built, materialising at either side of Kirk and grasping each of his arms as he glared at Spock with darkly frightening intensity. They began steering Kirk away forcefully as Valravn watched tensely, feeling the fissures creeping through her veneer.

Jim caught her eyes. There was something soft there, almost akin to an apology.

Then he punched the officer on his left in the stomach.

_Damn it, James!_ Valravn screamed internally.

The inelegant brawl broke out between Kirk and the two security officers, with the latter holding his own impressively despite the uneven numbers, wresting himself out of their grip. Valravn snapped to her feet before any of the bystanders on the bridge could intervene.

"James, _stop_!"

Her voice stopped Kirk instantaneously- long enough for a hand to calmly clamp down from behind on the juncture of Kirk's neck and shoulder, the pressure and precision of its fingers lethal. Jim dropped, unconscious, to the gleaming floor, sea-green eyes fluttering back into his skull.

Spock impassively observed the result of the effortless Vulcan nerve-pinch, and turned a gaze as hard as granite on Valravn.

"Get him off this ship," he said, low and cold, containing the steel of command.

Valravn felt something seep through the cavity of her chest, freezing her veins.

"Captain?"

"Prepare a deployment capsule," he clarified, striding back to the thick pane of translucent aluminium that overlooked the void of space before them. "Mr Sulu, redirect our course to bypass the nearest planet Class M planet with a functioning Starfleet or Federation base. Delta Vega should suffice."

The helmsman lowered his fingertips to the console, deftly reprogramming their course, but not before Valravn caught sight of a flicker of hesitation- a sentiment that seemed to be creeping across the officers on the bridge, doubt taking root.

Valravn could feel her chest tightening and inhaled deeply.

Spock glanced at Valravn, and noticed that his chief of security had not moved. Turning back towards her, he raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

"There is, Captain," she replied evenly. "By your orders, I can infer that you intend to maroon Cadet Kirk on Delta Vega in direct violation of Starfleet Security Protocol 49.09, governing the treatment of prisoners aboard a starship- which entitles the accused to a detention consisting of a standard holding cell aboard a starship with minimal civilised amenities, and the right to trial for their accused crime before any disciplinary action is implemented."

"Such procedure is disregarded in the case that said prisoner is an active and imminent threat to the security of a starship," Spock replied, willing to concede an acknowledging nod, his reasoning as perfectly Vulcan as ever, perfectly logical, without any trace of vindictiveness.

"Something that is to be decided at the discretion of the chief of security," Valravn reminded him sharply, feeling a deep stab of indignation in her stomach. Even the insinuation that she was anything less than exemplary in her station rankled, like tapping at an exposed nerve, whether it had been intentional on Spock's part or not.

Pride had always been her greatest sin.

"And the captain reserves the right to make that decision personally-" Spock continued, eyebrows rising infinitesimally.

"-in the event that the chief of security is declared medically incapable, or is otherwise indisposed and the situation requires an immediate decision," she finished, feeling the ice in her tone thicken, turning from mirror-glass to jagged. "Captain, marooning is too drastic a measure, and the brig is more than secure-"

"Lieutenant," Spock said, a warning in his tone, "I have judged Cadet Kirk to be a significant threat to the safety of this vessel."

"I am capable of ensuring the confinement of _one cadet_."

"Cadet Kirk has proven himself to be resourceful, his very presence on this ship being proof of that. He presents an ongoing threat to the chain of command."

Something snapped in her, like a thread pulled too tight. She was suddenly calm, too calm, centred at the eye of an arctic storm- the _cause_ of a storm, untouched by it.

Valravn glanced down at Kirk, unmoving at her feet, and wondered what he might say.

"You have made your position quite clear, sir," she said, dangerously serene; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Uhura stiffen, recognising the warning signs, but it was too late. "Allow me to do the same."

Valravn unsnapped the utility belt from around her waist.

"I resign."

The entire bridge stared at her in shock, punctuated only by the soft constant beep and whirr of the terminals.

Valravn felt a sting of vicious satisfaction.

"Raven-" She heard Uhura speak first from behind her, urgent and pleading, as Valravn dropped her belt into the cavity below her terminal. "Don't- this isn't-"

"If I cannot be entrusted with the internment of a single cadet aboard this starship, it hardly seems sensible to suggest I am qualified to serve as its chief of security. Simple logic," she replied, flawlessly composed despite the cold rage surging through her blood. It was as though someone had placed a sniper scope over her fury. "Therefore the only responsible course of action for me to take would be to defer my responsibilities to someone _more_ _competent_," Valravn stressed the words delicately, making them hiss like acid on metal, arching an eyebrow in a subtle yet effective show of scathing sarcasm. She and everyone else knew perfectly well that there was no one aboard the _Enterprise_ that was more suited, more dedicated, or simply _better_ in their station than her. "Ensign Chekov is more than equipped to take on the position of solo tactical officer. And the sector officers should be able to distribute duties amongst themselves until a new chief is selected."

Valravn walked towards the closest exit and paused, turned to Spock, and feeling slightly petty, said, "Good luck, Commander."

She breezed out, as unforgiving as the season that had given its name to her, leaving a disbelieving silence in her wake.

"Dr McCoy- I'm sorry, but- there's- sh-she came down here and- well, she's quite forceful-"

"It's fine, Nurse Chapel."

The nurse skittered out, more than content to leave the situation to the CMO.

Valravn was standing in the small office, leaning her hip against the steel desk, the bold red of the operations department covered by a sterile white laboratory coat, the hem skimming the back of her knees. Her onyx braid rested over her shoulder, hair-cuff flashing, crisp and clean and beautiful in her distantness, like driven snow.

"Tell me what I can do."

McCoy sighed heavily- but he was not about to dismiss a volunteer with medical training considering the state of his department and the number of patients he was attending to. Opening the closest cabinet drawer, he extracted a PADD and quickly programmed it.

"Inventory. We're still swamped, and I need to know how much functioning equipment and supplies we actually have."

Valravn extended her hand to take the device. "Done."

McCoy paused. "Tell me that you did this for the right reasons."

"I did this because I had my abilities questioned without good reason, my authority unfairly overruled, my advice dismissed out of hand, and was ordered to do something that I did not believe was right by any measure," Valravn said without blinking. "And I executed my resignation with a modicum of bitchiness because, _yes_, I _am_ pissed off because of James." Her fingers flicked upwards at the PADD. "_Give_."

McCoy couldn't resist a wry smile. "_If you stand for nothing, you'll fall for anything,_" McCoy quoted, offering her the PADD.

"Truer words," Valravn agreed, finally taking the device and skimming through the screen, deftly customising its layout to her preference. "I won't compromise myself for anyone or anything."

"Not even for Jim?"

Her eyes flicked up to his. "He'd never ask me to."

McCoy nodded.

"Uhura's going to come down here the moment she gets the chance, you know," he informed her.

"Lieutenant Uhura can do as she pleases," Valravn said dryly, giving a nonchalant shrug, never raising her eyes from the screen of the PADD. "Though I expect your poor nurses will be bemused by two _forceful_ human women in red operations uniforms and long black hair invading your medical bay on the same day. I'm afraid that I made quite the entrance earlier."

"Eh, don't worry about it. As long as you didn't break anything, I'm sure they'll recover. Medical staff are tough-skinned," McCoy said dismissively, turning towards the door. "Anyway. I'm sure you can find your way to the storerooms just fine- there are five in this ward- so just send me a message with the inventory details when you're done here and you can start in the next bay-"

"Are you going to prepare James' pod craft?"

He froze, closing his eyes briefly, damning that he had almost escaped.

"I'm not blaming you," Valravn added neutrally. "It was just a question."

McCoy turned back to look at her. The PADD was tucked under her arm, pressed to the right side of her chest, and she was levelling him with a calm look that he wasn't entirely sure was genuine. You could never tell, with Valravn, when she was primed to blow.

"Yeah. I'm gonna do it personally. Make sure the idiot doesn't catch hypothermia out there."

It seemed to be the answer she had been expecting. Without a word, she took something from the left pocket of the white coat she wore, flipping it up into the air and back into her free hand, offering it to him on the open palm of her hand.

McCoy approached cautiously. Exactly as he had mentioned on the bridge, he knew relatively little of weapons aside from the effects they had on living organisms, but the combat knife looked finely crafted; the blade was the length of his hand, wrapped in a sheath of black leather embossed with silver filigree, its hilt smooth and perfectly sculpted to her fingers. McCoy took it, turning it over in his fingers cautiously, before looking up at Valravn.

She was as impenetrable as ever, sealed off behind steel and ice.

"He'll know what it means," Valravn said cryptically.


	10. Chapter X: Fragments

_**A/N: **What?_ Two_ chapters in one day? What kind of black magic is this?!_

_So most of this chapter is what you might call filler- but I felt like I hadn't given a certain man his due, nor built up his ties with another certain leading lady. So, this covers it in the depth I have been after for a while. Besides, I wanted to do something a little special for _Radioactive_ finally hitting double-figures with these chapters, as well as to celebrate over 7,000 views from you amazing people (and ninety-nine alerts!_ Ninety nine!_)_._ I like the way the chapter turned out, anyway, though it is amongst the shortest. I hope you enjoy, as ever._

* * *

X  
_Fragments_

_May 16, 2258 – the _Narada

The innards of the _Narada_ were dark, dank and vast, hollow chambers of black metal that gleamed with sickly green and bile-yellow from its lighting, wiring and thick cables stained iron-oxide red, wild and bizarre architecture that seemed to sneer at its captive, as though the _Narada_ were a sentient reptilian being, filled with as much venom and murderous intent as her captain.

Pike was strapped down to the surface of an angled table, surrounded by miscellaneous equipment that had been dragged into place around him and a pool of ankle-deep black sewage water. The side of Pike that was still maintaining his sense of humour wondered what the crew might do were he to ask if having such a high-risk health hazard was really worth it for the general ambiance of misery. Overall, conditions were no worse than Pike had expected, and better than he would like- because of what it foretold.

His suspicions were confirmed as Nero circled him, his boots sloshing through sludge, and addressed him almost cordially.

"You are the only the second human I have ever met, face to face. You must have so many questions for me." He paused, coming into Pike's line of sight on his right side. "I have only one for you."

Nero leaned closer, voice low and gravelly as though rusted with disuse.

"I need the subspace frequencies of Starfleet's border detection grids. Specifically those surrounding Earth."

Pike gazed back at Nero, breathing slow and deep, burning with a quiet rage.

Bravery was easier than people thought when it had anger fuelling it.

"Christopher Pike- Captain, U.S.S. _Enterprise_, registry NCC-1701," he recited tonelessly.

"_Christopher_," Nero intoned. "Answer my question."

Pike's eyes flashed. "No. _You_ answer for the genocide that you just committed against a _peaceful planet_-"

"I _prevented_ genocide!" Nero snarled. Pike glared back, unwavering. The Romulan captain took a moment, leaning back and composing himself, and seemed to seethe for a moment. "In my time, where I come from," he began again, circling the table, "this ship is a simple mining vessel. I chose a life of honest labour to provide for myself," Nero halted on the other side of Pike, snapping on a blindingly bright strobe light angled above them, and a hologram; one of a radiant Romulan woman with curling copper hair, smiling beatifically as she wavered in a streak of light, her stomach swollen in the unmistakable late stages of pregnancy, "and the wife who was expecting my child. I was off-planet, doing my job, while your Federation did nothing- and allowed my people to burn as our planet broke in half-! And _Spock_, who swore to help us-!"

Pike blinked in confusion, and found his voice, grasping onto the unexpected anchor and trying to placate the Romulan stood before him.

"No, no- then you're confused, you've been misinformed, Romulus hasn't been destroyed, it's out there _right now_," he tried to reason with him, hoping that this had all been some horrible, tragic error. "You've been blaming the Federation for something that hasn't _happened_-"

"It _has_ happened!" Nero raged, features contorting with fury and deep visceral pain. "I _watched_ it happen! I _saw_ it happen!" He pulled away, eyes agonised, and the hologram shut off with a thud of electricity. "And when I lost her… I promised myself retribution. For twenty-five years, my crew and I mourned our loss. We burned our grief into our skin with ink and hot nails. Rura Penthe was _nothing_ in comparison. I swore not to speak another word until the day that revenge was within my grasp. I forgot the sound of my own voice, what it was to live a normal life- but I did not forget the pain." His expression darkened. "Pain that every surviving Vulcan now knows."

Pike could see how far Nero's mind was gone- nothing more than a hollow shell, twisted and warped by loss and wrath and destruction. Even so, he tried again.

"If what you say is true," Pike said slowly, "you have a second chance to save Romulus-"

"My purpose, Christopher," Nero cut him off, eyes glinting with a grim amusement, "is not simply to avoid the destruction of the home I love… but to create a Romulus that exists free of the Federation. You see, only then will she be truly safe."

He could not tell whether Nero was referring to the woman he loved, or the planet itself. Either way, it hardly mattered. Pike's storm-blue eyes were tranquil and resigned.

"Then we have nothing left to discuss," he said quietly, turning his head away.

Nero hissed out a sigh, as though disappointed, and moved away towards a countertop bearing a glass container- extracting a chirruping insect that vaguely resembled a large beetle, with a wriggling antennae and outer shell of glistening slime-brown. It squirmed in protest as Nero held it up between the teeth of a set of long silver tongs, examining it thoughtfully.

"It is not the fault of the human race that the Federation chose Earth as its centre," he said, almost apologetic. "You are a nobler race than my fallen cousins- able to feel, to suffer, to be aware of your surroundings on a level that the forever _logical_ Vulcans cannot. In this sense, you are closer kin than they could ever be. I promise that I will take no pleasure in your extinction."

_How reassuring,_ Pike thought with vitriol.

"But you will give me the frequencies to disable earth's defences." Nero turned back to Pike, holding the strange insect aloft. "Centurian slugs. They latch onto your brainstem," he said, suspending the insect- now chittering with an ominous _click_ of its pincers- above Pike's mouth, "and release a potent neurotoxin that will _force_ you to answer. They also happen to despise the dark. I can assure you that its burrowing through the gastric system is excruciatingly painful."

He paused, giving Pike one last chance.

"Frequencies, please."

Perhaps Pike should have thought of the lives lost on Vulcan, of the enterprising young cadets killed on their first mission before they even had the joy of graduation, of the planet full of innocents now in peril for a vendetta concocted by a madman. Instead, Pike though selfishly. He thought of _his_ people, _his_ crew, placed in danger for Nero's revenge and destruction; he thought of Spock, an officer who had served him with unwavering honesty and even a shade of friendship behind his calculated words- of Kirk, his stubborn, foolish but brilliant protégé, brimming with potential, who was one of Pike's proudest achievements, for himself and Jim and Starfleet- of Valravn, his niece. Valravn- what if she had been assigned to another ship? What if Kirk hadn't been aboard the _Enterprise_, hadn't heard the anomaly's description and made the crucial connection? And _worse_: what if Valravn had already, at that very moment, been killed in the mission to destroy the drill that Nero had deployed to bore through Vulcan's heart?

"Christopher Pike- Captain, U.S.S. _Enterprise_, registry NCC-1701," Pike said coldly.

Nero gave an almost sad smile. "As you wish."

Pike's jaw was forced, and the slug dropped into his throat.

He choked.

(_The girl could be no more than nine years old._

_Hair the glossy colour of ink spilled down her back in a stark, fairytale contrast to the vivid crimson of her dress and the white of her flesh, like a perfect little doll bought to life. She perched at the seat of the console, her small hands working with absurd dexterity across the screens, eyes raised to watch the holographic image above her head. The blueprints rotated smoothly by precise degrees with a circling of her fingertips, entire constructs being removed from the three-dimensional shell of light, being reformed, replaced, or else scrapped entirely. The specification details whirred constantly, statistics increasing and decreasing with the improvements being made at the hands of a child._

_From the large glass panel of the view screen facing into the chamber, a handful of engineers and programmers watched with a blend of incredulity, amazement, and the slight irritability that understandably comes with being presented with a prodigal genius in their field, as their design grew more streamlined, more efficient by the very second._

_A woman stood at the forefront and at one side of the cluster of scientists- blonde hair pinned up with a single silver stick, wearing an immaculate white trench coat and a visitor's pass over a black pencil skirt and crisp blouse; she was the only one of the small audience who looked neither pleased nor astounded by the display, and had no professional reason to be present._

_One engineer glanced over, recording a few note on their PADD. "Your daughter is very talented," they told her warmly._

_Karin gave only a whisper of a smile._

"_Yes she is."_

_The newly-minted Captain Christopher Pike, standing next to his sister-in-law, knew the words she left unspoken: _that's what I'm afraid of.)

"The frequencies, Christopher."

"_N- no_-"

(_Christopher Pike sat in the booth of the coffee shop, hands wrapped around the heated porcelain of the cup as he stared out at the pavements of a glittering metropolis so similar and yet so different to San Francisco. London was a city of glossy onyx and black steel and grand ancient stone where San Francisco was bright glass and silver titanium and poured concrete; the capital in whose beating heart he sat was seething with an atmosphere of quiet class and swift lifeblood, where its Californian twin was exploding with colour and music and constant life._

_The opening of the door was marked by a blast of chilled air. A young girl walked in- twelve years old and as dark and aloof as her home city, dressed entirely in black, the collar of her jacket high, her flat-heeled boots tapping, long black hair drawn back into an intricate braid. She saw him and made her way over, slipping into the seat opposite him without a word._

_Chris rose slightly in his seat and leaned over the table, pressing a brief kiss to his niece's forehead. The sweet, artificial scent of strawberry that met him reminded him of how she looked too young for her ice-coloured eyes, and wished that the powers that be had given her a warmer shade._

"_You were gone for a while," he said gently as he settled back into his side of the booth, nudging her cooling cup of hot chocolate towards her._

_She took the cup unseeingly and took an obedient sip, setting it back down in its saucer with its handle perfectly parallel to the table's edge. Chris' heart contracted. "I saw _them_ hovering," she replied quietly, smoothing a speck of dust from her black nylon tights, skin glittering through the fine weave in pinpricks like ivory. "They thought they were being subtle. I had to wait for them to get bored and leave."_

"_Ah. I see." Chris hesitated. "How do you feel?"_

_The girl simply gave him a look. Chris had the grace to look embarrassed._

"_I'm sorry. That was kind of a dumb question, huh?"_

_She made no reply at first, picking up her cup again and taking a deeper swallow._

_Her cup returned to its saucer with a clink. "Am I going to California with you?"_

_Chris had expected the question, and had spent most of his time waiting for her constructing the best response he could._

"_Well- I'd like you to. Your mother asked me to look after you, and we both know that it would be difficult for me to leave San Francisco. But it's up to you. If you want to stay here, I'll arrange it. You want to go to a boarding school on some Earth colony, I'll do that too. You want to come with me when I leave on the _Yorktown_\- I'll get hell for it and have to call in a few favours to get the paperwork pushed through in time, but I'll see it done."_

_She stared down into the deflating whipped foam topping her drink, and dipped the tip of her index finger into it absently._

"_What's it like?"_

"_What, San Francisco?" Chris paused. "It's a big central city, like London. Skyscrapers, retail stores, coffee shops- but it's busier, because of the spaceport. And since the Federation's headquarters are based there, there are always diplomats and ambassadors coming through, so you might say it's a little more diverse. It sits right on the Pacific Coast, so this thick fog rolls in off the sea overnight, and the mornings are cold- but by about ten, it's all burned away. It's warm, especially in the summer. Drive a few miles out, there are some good surfing beaches. And you can see the stars."_

_Her head lifted slightly, attention sparked, and Chris pressed the point keenly._

"_Starfleet Academy set up these shields around the grounds that filter out the ambient city lights. It cost them a small fortune."_

"_I can imagine," she said softly. "I want to go there."_

_Chris smiled gently. "Okay, then, we'll-"_

"_Today."_

_Chris blinked. "_Today_?"_

_She looked up at him from under her lashes. "I already said goodbye to mother. That's what took me so long." Her voice became slightly pleading. "Say that we'll go today, Uncle Chris."_

_He wavered._

"_Okay. If that's what you want."_)

"I want those frequencies, Christopher."

"I'm _not_\- _telling you_\- anyth-!"

(_The childish scent of strawberry had become clean sharp peppermint, and peppermint had become French perfume with jasmine and sandalwood._

_Only fourteen, and she already had simple yet sophisticated tastes that outstripped anyone he had ever met._

_She had never grown back into wearing colour- _true_ colour; her favourite shades of blood-orange and blushed rose and cherry and that carmine red she used to wear in the form of satin ribbons whenever she could, with the soft autumn golds and cold blue and deep sapphire and turquoise and pale green that supplemented it- after her mother's death. All her adolescent wardrobe contained was garments in charcoal, jet, ebony, with occasional flashes of darkest navy the colour of midnight skies. Together with the look in her eyes, it aged her by at least three years._

_Chris supposed that this was what she wanted. But she still behaved like a brat._

_Most guardians of a teenager had to deal with the _rebelliousstage_ at some point. While most were confronted by unpredictable moodiness, the locking of doors, arguments that shook the earth and a constant agonising worry, Chris was instead faced with the same aforementioned moodiness with, instead, cold calm veneers and insane career aspirations. He was already furious that Starfleet continued to pull her out of school to use her mind as a tool for classified projects, taking advantage of the occasions that he was off-planet and didn't know until after the fact._

_What was worse was that she had started doing it too._

"_I don't understand why you're so upset," she said in an infuriatingly even tone that Chris categorically refused to believe he might have accidentally taught her._

_The apartment in which they were sat was large and monochrome and glossy, the cold sleek fixtures suiting them both well, peppered with personal touches- photographs on glass and chrome surfaces, jackets and coats and scarves hung and draped on the pegs next to the door, books and the occasional stray shoe littered around the open-plan living space. His favourite feature, and hers, was the panoramic window._

_He leaned across the table and scooped another spoonful of butter-smothered spears of asparagus onto her plate, and received an unimpressed look in return. Chris cursed that her stubbornness outweighed absolutely anything else. When she had been a child- she was _still_ a child, Chris reminded himself angrily- it had taken little more than a stack of the stuff, alongside a soft-boiled free range chicken's egg, thick with golden yolk, to bribe her into anything and everything. If only she was still so easily persuaded by food._

"_I am _upset_ because you went behind my back," Chris said sharply._

"_I'm telling you _now_, aren't I? Besides, we both know that if I had tried to ask, you wouldn't have even considered it before saying no," she replied, taking a pair of tongs and piling curls of smoked salmon onto her plate. Chris knew that the amount of protein she consumed was slightly abnormal for a girl her age and stature, but it was one of many things that had to be set aside to the back of his mind for the sake of his sanity. "_It is better to beg forgiveness than ask permission._"_

"_What, because that way I can't stop you?"_

_She shrugged without reply, raising her glass to her mouth indifferently._

"_You _deliberately_ hid this from me," he reiterated in way that would have set his new recruits squirming in their seats. His niece, on the other hand, hitched an eyebrow much in the same manner that his Vulcan commander did when there seemed no better reaction- only she did it in such a way that it communicated a wealth of apathy, amusement and slight contempt. "You disobeyed me, after I specifically told you no."_

_She rolled her eyes. "I downloaded a _prospectus_. You act like I enrolled into the academy by forging your signature on the consent forms- or I told you that I want to become a contract murderer. By the stars, Chris, you are a _captain_ of Starfleet!"_

"_And I believe in it, but you are _fourteen_, Raven- you're young and you're throwing away your education on something you might not even want in a few years! When you're this age, it's a long time between now and university-"_

"_This _is_ my future," she said coldly, gathering up a slice of salmon onto her fork. "I didn't choose it, but it is. Face it, what else can I possibly do with my life?"_

_Chris softened. "You could do anything. Be anyone. As extraordinary or normal as you like."_

_She swallowed a mouthful of salmon, processing this._

"_Normal," she echoed._

_She placed her fork down with a clink, hands placed primly in her lap._

"_Do you want to know what I did in school today?"_

_It was a non-sequitur, a verbal trap. Chris set down his own silverware nonetheless, lacing his fingers together and bracing himself._

"_What did you do in school today?"_

"_I got eight detentions."_

"_Eight?!" Chris repeated in disbelief._

"_Eight," she confirmed, dangerously serene. "I was given the first from my maths teacher because I didn't finish the homework because it was too easy and I didn't see the point. My literature teacher gave me my second, third and fourth- one because I didn't hand in the scene summaries on _Romeo and Juliet_, another because said that I didn't need to do the summary sheet because I know the play and proved it to the entire class by reciting Mercutio's Queen Mab speech from memory, and the last because I lost my temper- sorry- and insulted my teacher when she told me I was being insolent. The one I got for skipping class to reprogram the school's heating system so that it worked properly was my seventh, I think, I got one from my science teachers when I corrected them on electronic configurations in transition metals, and I- this isn't _unusual_, Chris, I-"_

_She cut herself off and rose from her seat without waiting for his reply, breathing deeply._

"_I am _sick_ of being the whale trying to live in a fish-tank," she said, frustrated and coiled with tension like a spring-trap. "I feel like I'm _suffocating_ because I'm trying to be normal but I won't _ever_ be, whether you or I like it or not. I want to feel _small_ for _once_ in my life- I want to be able to look up to people, to learn something for once. I just- want to look out into space and feel it all around me and realise how insignificant I am, that I'm only human, just like anybody else. I want to be one fish, one tiny fish, in an endless sea. I just- I- I want to be part of something _bigger- something _more _important_ than me."_

_She turned and walked away, speaking more to herself than him, in a tone that broke Chris' resolve in two._

"_Is… that _so much_ to ask…?"_)

"- _ur- urgh-_"

"You _will_ comply, Christopher."

It was minutes in hours, hours in minutes, fragments of a life rendering time meaningless, as fast or as slow as it pleased and whichever was worst for him-

(_She was seventeen, and a young woman._

_Christopher Pike watched her slip out of the doors of the elevator and spill into the lobby, descending the short flight of steps, carrying a heavy duffel bag over one shoulder and a sizable suitcase in the opposite hand. Her hair was ebony silk, whisked back from her face, a few short strands of her fringe pulling loose, smudging the marble-carved definition of her features. Aviator sunglasses propped atop her head like a gleaming headband, she was dressed in small black canvas shorts that exposed her long legs, a tank top of the same shade, wedge sandals with a heel of cork and silver and turquoise beading on the soft russet leather straps, and an infectious smile. The black strings of a halter-necked, gold-studded two-piece swimsuit were underneath her clothes- they were going to the beach, she had told him, before anything else on the agenda._

_Though almost non-existent, it was, aside from her crimson cadet uniform, the most colour that Chris had seen her wear in years._

"_That's the last of them," she carefully set her bags down on the polished tiles, the others already loaded into the van._

"_Sure you've got everything?"_

"_Of course I'm sure," she retorted, feigning mild offence, though her smile quickly returned to ruin the effect. She was happy- _relaxed_, and happy._

_Chris chuckled. "If you say so. Just at least tell me that you and Kirk have some kind of itinerary for this trip."_

"_If by that you're asking if _I_ forced us to have one for the sake of some semblance of organisation," she replied, nearly sparkling, "yes, I do. The route was planned by James, though, so don't blame me if there's a lot of jumping around- he insisted we see everything we both wanted. We'll be following the Golden Coast for a few days, then a day or two in the Caribbean before we go into Venezuela to see that waterfall- I have the feeling that James will probably coerce me into visiting Rio and Buenos Aires while we're still on South America. Then East Asia- maybe Singapore, Japan, Hong Kong, wherever the mood takes us- maybe Russia- definitely Italy and France to see the cathedrals. Then England- I want to show him London- Iceland to see the aurora borealis, and Canada if we have time."_

"_Sounds like fun," Chris said wryly, knowing that they would return exhausted but without regrets. He was glad, especially for her- being young gave you licence to be a little irresponsible in the name of cheap thrills._

"_Can I ask you something?" She directed at him suddenly, staring at her duffel bag where it rested at her feet. Chris examined her in one sweeping look; strong, flippantly cool, bearing more effortless elegance than any of her peers at the academy. "Why did you say yes to this?"_

_Chris hesitated, filling the silence with a thoughtful sigh. Somehow- he wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, in retrospect, but he had to respect his protégé for executing it so smoothly- Jim Kirk had persuaded her the previous February that a planet-wide road trip would be preferable to any summer internship. He had sourced an ancient rusting VW camper van the colour of the sky, retrofitting it with a hydrogen engine and fresh panelling, plotting their course across the continents, all after obtaining Pike's permission. _

_Truthfully, he wondered what had possessed him to agree. Perhaps it was Kirk's sheer tenacity- or the fact that Chris had seen Valravn in that first month, trying to look indifferent but flattered and intrigued by the attention as she walked from one lecture to the next with the notorious, promiscuous and insatiable Jim Kirk at her heels, like a puppy trying to get her attention; or the genuine, giddy joy he had seen in his protégé after Kirk had acquired her hard-earned friendship; or the righteous rage evidenced in the form of an Andorian cadet's injuries, a sight that sent a shot of vicious satisfaction through Chris even as he denounced it as unacceptable behaviour. Maybe it was to smooth over her messy breakup with said cadet, which must have affected her- making the rare and, for her, difficult decision to trust only to have it rebound on her like shrapnel- as well as she hid it. Maybe it was because she was perfectly capable of looking after herself._

_But maybe- just, maybe, it was guilt._

_Guilt that he had failed Karin- that he hadn't given her the stable childhood she was entitled to, but rather had given in to what Valravn had wanted, and let her become the weapon that Starfleet wouldn't say that it wanted._

"_Because you wanted to go."_)

"-appears to be working-"

"- won't be able to reject the toxin for long-"

"- involuntary-"

"- some way we can-"

"- patience, Ayel-"

(_"You're prepared to die, aren't you?"_

_He was scanning the shuttle's complex of controls, reacquainting himself with piloting controls, listening to the slam and clack and rustle as his subordinate changed into the sole EV suit stashed aboard the small vessel behind him; the other members of the impromptu task force, including Engineer Olsen, would be catching up to them once they had changed into their own suits._

_The space left to them was unfamiliar territory, balanced on a knife edge._

"_Careful, Raven," Pike said, hearing a chain of successive snaps echoing at his back. "No one has ever been able to accuse you of being a hypocrite before. Don't go giving them an opportunity."_

_Her silence implied an unseen shrug. "Now you know how it feels."_

_Pike's jaw tightened. "_Raven_."_

"_Sorry." She replied, more than slightly insincere. "But you are the one that bought it up."_

_He took a cleansing breath, and resolutely changed the subject. "What do you think of the plan? In your professional opinion."_

_Even encased in the resilient shell of the EV suit, her steps were light and nigh unobtrusive as she approached the cockpit. Pike swivelled his chair to face her, and found a warrior armoured in jet-black in place of his niece._

"_It's a risk. Bold, decisive, a little insane on its surface but honestly brilliant once you see underneath." A shadow of a smile chased her mouth as she leaned against the metal frame of the door. "Exactly how I like them best."_

"_Much like your taste in men, it seems," Pike muttered on a momentary impulse._

_She hardened._

"Really_? Are we really going to get into this _now_?"_

"_You and I both know that this may just be my last chance to _get into this_," Pike replied forebodingly._

_She held her tongue, and Pike finally asked the question that had been preying upon his mind for entirely too long._

"_What exactly are your feelings towards Jim Kirk?"_

_The silence that followed roiled, tension coiling like wisps of smoke from the surface of her suit; when ice burned, in Pike's experience, everything swiftly went to hell._

"_That's none of your business," Valravn said, deceptively cordial._

"_As your commanding officer, I think you'll find it damn well is," Pike said, perhaps more tersely than he had intended due to the dread swirling in his chest. "What is Jim Kirk to you?"_

"_I trust him and work exceptionally well with him, sir." Valravn recited tonelessly. "However, our personal relationship will not impede our performance under your command."_

_Pike exhaled, frustrated. "That wasn't what I asked and you know it."_

"_That's because I'm not obliged to tell you, Captain, beyond how it relates to my performance under your command."_

"_Then as someone who cares about you."_

"_Alright," Valravn said lightly. "As your _niece_: it is _none_… of your _business_," she ground out._

_Pike pinched his brow, eyes closing briefly. When he spoke again, it was with abject honesty._

"_Don't think I'm doing this for the wrong reasons, Raven. I _like_ Jim. I think he has great potential within Starfleet- and beyond, as a good person and a good man, too. But I see the way you look at him. The way you defended him on the bridge."_

"_He was _right_!" She pointed out incredulously, her form loosening in exasperation._

"_You had no way of knowing that for certain. You took a leap of faith, and that isn't you," Pike persisted solidly. He was, truthfully, worried- not that Kirk would hurt her intentionally; if he ever told Valravn that he loved her, he would mean it- but for how long? Valravn loved quietly, but with her whole heart and for eternity. "I know that he won't mean to- he's a good kid- but he'll only hurt you. That's not what I want for you."_

"This_ isn't what you wanted for me either, _remember_?" She said sharply._

_Pike felt a bolt of realisation reverberate through him at her sudden outburst. In all their years, of all the arguments, never had she erupted so passionately._

"_You love him."_

_The expression welled up in her eyes like blood, as though he had physically cut her open._

_She turned away, as smooth as glass._

"_They are on their way."_)

Somewhere, where his body was and his mind was not, a stream of codes- keys to unlocking the gates to the enemy- emerged from his throat.


	11. Chapter XI: Convergence

_**A/N:** I do not like this chapter at all- too much exposition we all already know about, too rushed, too bland in my opinion- but, eh, here it is, because it's done and not getting any better. Exams, exams, exams- I have so much revision it's not even funny. But, hey, on a brighter note, I'm technically back on my updating schedule! So, yeah. Also, I'm going to see the Alexander McQueen _Savage Beauty_ exhibition in London tomorrow. I have to wake up at six and won't be back until nine, so I'll be slightly dead on Sunday, but oh well- _McQueen_._

_Anyway- you know the drill. Please, even if I hate this chapter, I hope you enjoy it._

* * *

XI  
_Convergence_

_May 18, 2258 – Delta Vega, Vulcan System_

The first thing he noticed was how cold it was.

That revelation was quickly followed by an ache that flooded his muscles.

Kirk groaned softly, wincing against the light he sensed behind his eyelids. For as long as he could remember, he had suffered from occasional migraines- they were relatively rare, fortunately, but also tended to be agonising to the point of near debilitation, enough to make Kirk willing to take anything that McCoy prescribed to dull it. On a few occasions, it had been so bad that even a sliver of light or slightly raised voice had him whimpering in pain; during one such episode, McCoy had panicked when none of the usual remedies were proving effective, and contacted Valravn. She had arrived, having skipped a lecture to be there, and sat back against the headboard of Kirk's bed, legs crossed in front of her and a pillow padding her lap, Jim's head resting atop it as she pressed her fingers to his temples, thumbs stroking his forehead soothingly, while he purred up at her with such relief that it had been embarrassing.

The ache felt like one of those migraines, but rather than being concentrated in his skull, it seemed to have been filtered and distributed through his entire body. Kirk couldn't decide whether it was better or worse.

The pain ebbed relatively quickly, however, and slowly, Kirk opened his eyes.

Blinding white outside the window of a pod stared back at him.

At that point he remembered that it was _cold_.

Several expletives came to mind.

"Computer, where am I?" He asked, his voice raw, stabbing at the panel in front of him.

"_Location: Delta Vega, Class M planet, unsafe_." Kirk unwound the now purposeless bandage from his hand and tossed the wrappings behind his head, and wiping condensation from the inside of the pod's window, blinking hard. A tunnel of packed snow and ice, serrated by the edges of the standard one-man escape capsule, stared up into the skies. _"There is a Starfleet outpost fourteen kilometres to the northwest. Remain in your pod until retrieved by Starfleet authorities-_"

"Oh, you gotta be _kidding_ me," Kirk groaned out. He stirred, his shoulder twinging painfully, and registered a pack stuffed into the space near his feet.

_Bones_.

Kirk shifted- and felt something slip from his pocket, clattering to the metal curvature of the pod behind his seat, resting by his waist.

Frowning, he twisted slightly and closed his fingers around it, sitting up as much as possible without smacking his forehead against the closed hatch, and examined it in the reflected light from the snow.

It was a knife. To be specific, it was a combat knife- one of both expense and elegance, with a triple-A grade tritanium blade, five-point-three inches long, and a black leather sheath embossed with a few swirls of silver detailing like fern-frost. When Kirk pushed the hilt up slightly with his thumb, sliding the first glimpse of the bright blade out, he saw that it was double-edged, the first inch of one side serrated.

A knife. _Her_ knife. The one that Pike had given her. The one that she never let leave her side for longer than a moment, both because she was always armed and because she was secretly sentimental that way.

It was a wordless message, saying a hundred different things all at once.

_I trust you. You're an idiot. I'm always on your side. I'm sorry that this is all I can do for you. I tried. Be safe. Come back._

Jim, absurdly, felt hot tears splinter from behind his eyes.

Without thinking, he slid the blade from its sheath and pressed the flat of the steel to his lips.

With a shiver, wiping the ridiculous and inexplicable tears away quickly, Kirk pressed the blade back into his pocket safely, and, bracing himself, unlatched the frost-encrusted hatch. The pod hissed open, the canopy stuttering on its hinges, and its computer gave a cautionary beep as Kirk grimaced against the exquisitely intense cold- clinging to miniscule consolation in the fact that the sky, behind the thick snow-clouds, was a certain shade of pale blue that he associated with a girl, a winter evening and a kiss.

"_You have been ordered to remain in the pod-_" The computer began.

"Bite me," Kirk snarled at the infuriatingly polite computerised voice, which continued to issue its message undeterred, heaving himself upright and clambering out, "how's that?"

Once he had extracted himself from the cramped pod, he snatched up the duffel bag that had been packed into the capsule with him, slinging its strap over his shoulder and looking up the sheer cliff wall of ice before him. It radiated fresh piercing cold, leeching his body heat mercilessly, but Kirk squared his jaw and gripped the closest jagged handhold, testing his weight against it and locating a matching foothold. Slowly, he began to scale his way out, bronze hair and the black fabric covering his shoulders and arms dusted with snow and chips of ice like crumbs of crystal, hauling himself up with stubborn patience.

By the time he crawled out over the top of the tunnel gouged by the pod's landing, his muscles were aching in protest and the soles of his boots were caked so thickly with snow that he could feel it underneath his weight. Panting, he threw the duffel bag from his shoulder with a clink of buckles and struggled to his feet, staring out across the landscape.

Before him lay absolutely _nothing_.

Nothing but empty skies and barren wastes of snow, cracked with crevasses and jagged natural monuments of ice, the sun's radiance tripled by the glaring white. He may as well have been dropped in the heart of Earth's arctic.

Kirk turned on his heel, his breath fogging in short bursts from his mouth. It was the same for miles in every direction.

Kirk growled low in the back of his throat.

"You neck-pinching mother_fu_-"

* * *

_May 18, 2258 – U.S.S. _Enterprise_, Alpha Quadrant_

Valravn examined her own knees blankly, seated on a bench built into the curved wall, a cup of tasteless coffee resting next to her left hand. The sterile white laboratory coat sealed in the crimson dress of operations she still wore underneath, a flash of colour just visible above the dip where the lapels overlapped into the neckline. She hadn't been able to find it in herself to remove her former uniform.

Valravn realising that, strangely, wearing a white coat made her feel like her mother. She was aware that she looked very little like Karin Winter; the psychologist had been gorgeous, pale blonde and willowy, with gentle eyes and small hands and a cool but approachable manner, as pure a shade of white as the tailored coat that she wore. Valravn was harsh black, black as pitch and always had been, dark as her hair and bound just as tightly.

Though she had always known it, white didn't suit her.

She had thought that she had a slim chance with red, however. _Blood. Passion. Pride._

_It goes well with gold._

_But then, so do most colours._

Valravn heard footsteps.

"That was _childish_ you know."

Valravn stood up, picking up her coffee, and looked Uhura in the eyes. She was right: deliberately referring to Spock as _Commander_ instead of _Captain_ had been a low blow, unnecessarily malicious. But Uhura had always known that Valravn had a cruel streak in her, something primal and sadistic in her nature that she usually controlled.

"I'm well aware of that."

Uhura blinked, visibly thrown by Valravn's calm demeanour. "So- does that mean-?"

"That I plan on apologising? Don't be naïve, Nyota, it doesn't suit you," Valravn said, with an air of practiced passive-aggressive politeness, taking a sip of her coffee- or what was supposed to pass for coffee, but instead tasted something more like lukewarm water flavoured with grit. Kirk had spoiled her on the barista blends they served at his- _their_\- favourite coffee bar.

"What you did was _wrong_," Uhura said clearly and firmly.

"Mm, _no_, I think you will find that overruling my authority without a valid reason was _wrong_."

"You can't possibly _agree_ with what Kirk did!" Uhura exclaimed incredulously. Her delicate earrings- leaf-shaped hanging pendants of mother-of-pearl, ones that Valravn recognised as the ones she had bought her for her last birthday; it seemed a strange thing to notice, at such a moment, but she felt somewhat detached from the conversation- swung like small knives, stark iridescent white against her dark skin. "He tried to commit _mutiny_-"

Valravn arched an eyebrow. "Did you _hear_ me say that? No, I don't think you did. You are right to say that what James did was inexcusable- just because I think that Spock was wrong, that doesn't mean that I think that James was right. He didn't exactly propose a viable alternative, but that doesn't make returning to the Laurentian system and the fleet any less pointless. All those egos and high ranks in one room, can you _imagine_? All of them will be so used to having full control over a situation that, in a room full of their peers, everyone will want to have their say, and then that will lead to dissent, and _then_ it will take several arguments before one side is willing to concede to the better plan- by the time they manage to organise themselves, the _Narada_ will have already laid waste to Earth and be cheerfully crushing their next target."

Uhura tensed, her thoughts no doubt wandering to her family on Earth, and for a moment Valravn felt a stab of regret. Perhaps she shouldn't have bought the matter up in such stark language, but Valravn despised sugar-coating the truth. It only turned to knives in the stomach.

_A sweet taste does not remain forever in the mouth_, she bitterly remembered Uhura saying to her, once.

"You don't know that they want Earth," Uhura began. "Or that the fleet won't catch up in time. You don't even know that they'll get the codes from Captain Pike-"

"I could obtain those codes within a matter of hours if I wanted them," Valravn interrupted coldly, her throat sickening at the truthful admission. She preferred to forget, most days (Kirk helped- when he watched her practice with her knives and told her that she moved like air and water, when he hotly told someone that weapon design could feed into cleaner energy production and faster warp drives, when he dragged her back to people and reality and _life_ instead of dreams of destruction and death and in doing so returned the colour to her world, brighter and stronger than ever) that her skills had less savoury uses. "Less, probably. Do you honestly think that the Romulans will hold back? Who knows- they might even have a useful little creature that organically produces sodium thiopental in its venom. It's a truth serum in human biochemistry; or, if you don't believe that it's quite so miraculous, it loosens the tongue of whoever's bloodstream it has been injected into. Pair that with a little bit of carefully concentrated pain, focused on one of a hundred dense nerve-beds in the human body, and you have a pretty little cocktail for ripping information right out of-"

"_Stop_ it!" Uhura said sharply, her dark eyes wide, her beautiful features contaminated by something like horror. "How can you _say_ things like that so _calmly_? Raven, he's your _uncle_-"

Valravn smiled brokenly, feelings its jagged edges, like a cracked mirror reflecting a distorted image of the outside world.

"What," she said quietly, in a voice that might have been tearful if her eyes had not been utterly dry, "am I _supposed_ to do, then, Nyota? Lie to myself? What good would that do? Tell me, please, because I don't know."

She paused, and crushed down a wave of emotion, reining in the guilt, fury, fear. _You have no room for this._

"Unless you can tell me how I should be processing the fact that I have potentially lost what little I care about in the space of a _day_, don't you _dare_ condescend to tell me how I am supposed to act." Valravn turned away, and started walking. "Tell _Captain_ Spock that I'm sorry, if you like. At this point I could care less."

The soles of a pair of boots stuttered on the floor, not quite running after her.

"We need you on that bridge," Uhura said forcefully, a ghost of the words echoing around them. "I don't care if you think you're not appreciated, we need-"

Valravn barely slowed her stride. "Are you _seriously_ trying to change my mind?"

"I'm not an idiot- I know you won't come back, but I think it's the only good place for you right now- and I- I am _concerned_ for you."

Valravn halted, thawing a fraction.

"I know. And I _am_ sorry for that."

She paused, dragging in a deep breath.

"I know I ask the impossible, but try not to, Ny. I will be fine. Besides- you have infinitely bigger things to worry about," she said lightly, flicking her wrist dismissively as she walked away, her tone and stride languid. "Don't we all?"

* * *

_May 18, 2258 – Delta Vega, Vulcan System_

"_Stardate 2258.38_." Kirk yelled into a tricorder above the wind howling in his ears. "Or, uh, or _40_. Whatever. Lieutenant's log, supplemental; I'm preparing a testimonial for my Starfleet court martial- you know, assuming that there's still a Starfleet _left_ by the time I get back."

The razor winds were slicing across the plane, edged with snow like shards of glass, as he trudged onwards at a tangent as north-west as he could manage, one hand holding his thick hood in place in the fierce winds; despite packing a tricorder in with the highly insulated weather-gear that Kirk was had wrapped himself into, McCoy had apparently neglected to think of snow goggles- if a piece of stray ice didn't take out one of his eyes, the glare of the snow, now the same colour as the skies due to the miniature blizzard, just might. Shadows of outcrops of ice, vague blue and menacing, loomed around him out of the mist.

Overall, Kirk decided that he ever had the misfortune of meeting Spock again, he was going to punch him square in the jaw.

"Acting Captain _Spock_\- whose only form of expression is apparently limited his _left damn eyebrow_\- has marooned me on Delta Vega, in what I believe to be a violation of Security Protocol 49.09, governing the treatment of prisoners aboard a star-"

An eerie howl echoed in the distance.

Kirk stopped, frozen.

Hesitantly, he turned.

The howl sounded again, and suddenly Kirk wasn't so sure that the creature making it was _distant_.

The massive quadruped outline appeared about thirty feet away, bounding towards him- a creature he had never seen before and would gladly never lay eyes on again- one with the top-heavy solid muscle of a gorilla, the brittle white fur of a polar bear, blended with a snarling and snorting mouth of curved teeth.

It was charging right at him.

Things had, impossibly, just got worse.

Kirk heard the blistering expletive that had been forming at the back of his throat emerge as a wordless yell, breaking into a sprint, the creature crashing behind him with a horrific battle cry, clearly intent on catching and devouring its prey whole.

The wind splintered his vision, the landscape a blur around him, and the creature was gaining on his heels with a thunderous pounding of paws-

Something exploded up through the thick ice behind him, and Kirk was sent sprawling, boulders of packed snow crashing down around him with a deafening blast.

Kirk crawled backwards, bruised and reeling, only to see that his pursuer was clenched in the maw of _something else_, something so, so, _so_ much _worse_. If its prey had been a grotesque monster born of evolution's most twisted machinations, it was nothing in comparison to the arachnid-shaped, blood-black insectile aberration that was slamming the polar bear-gorilla hybrid against a mass of ice and rock, as though it were a terrier with a small grey rat.

Kirk stumbled backwards as the new creature caught sight of him with the many eyes lining its body, leaned forwards at him and _roared_\- its mouth was like the underbelly of an octopus, fanned and the inner veined flesh lined with hundreds of teeth, its breath hot and damp and dripping with yellow spittle.

Within seconds he was on his feet and running again across the ice plane, direction be damned, because he was not going to almost be eaten then not be eaten only to be _eaten anyway_-

The ground disappeared from beneath him.

Kirk was tumbling, slamming from his back to his shoulder to his knees to his head one after the other, falling down what felt like the steep slope of a mountain. He heard the creature roaring from behind him in frustration, then the crunching _crack-kaboom_ of an ice-shelf giving way underneath its weight, dissolving into an avalanche, and the monster was sent flailing after him, squealing shrilly.

Kirk was thrown down the last few jagged bumps, landing hard and sliding to a stop atop a slab of clear blue ice, groaning, the breath knocked out of him, every inch of him either burning or aching. He stood, sliding on the ice and ran just in time to escape the red monster that had almost crushed him and was still, _inexplicably_, in pursuit, catching sight of the darkened fissure of a cave mouth.

_Yes!_

The creature chased him inside with a stabbing of speared limbs. Kirk weaved through the tunnels of rock and ice, hearing it smash its way through the hollow ice after him, hoping to lose it somewhere in the wind-carved labyrinth-

Something wrapped around his leg, and Kirk was dragged backwards.

It was its _tongue_, strong as a rope, slick and muscled. Kirk kicked out and clawed for purchase on the cave floor, his gloved hands finding nothing as he was dragged forwards, its fanned mouth gleaming with acrid yellow saliva, its mouth pulsating as it wrenched him towards it-

_Join Starfleet,_ Kirk thought wildly, _outdo your father's legacy and, oh yeah, become _fucking lunch_ to some Delta Vega monstrosity-_

Something flared on the corner of his vision.

A torch- a simple primitive fire-torch, of all things, an incongruous blaze of heat and light and sign of intelligent life in the barren world- in the hand of a humanoid figure drove forwards calmly and warded the creature off with trails of rustling flame, swooping through the air in high arcs.

The monster backed off with an alarmed shriek, suddenly afraid and scuttling like a startled crab, curling in on itself- and reluctantly fled.

Suddenly everything was quiet as the rumble of the monster's retreat faded, but for the crackle of the fire-torch in the figure's hand.

"The Hen-Gra," the figure spoke almost nonchalantly, its timbre male and ageing, but as reassuringly steady as weathered stone. They were dressed in similar garments to Kirk, an insulating hooded coat of a dark nondescript shade and heavy boots, lined with beige fur. "Notoriously afraid of heat."

Kirk sat up gingerly, testing his limbs for any hint of fractures or broken bones, still out of breath. The figure turned towards him, illuminated by the warm orange tint of the torch and its reflection off the opaque ice, and Kirk saw him for the first time- with ears that curved up into a point, a calm mask of his expression and a symmetrical cut to his greying hair, he was, unmistakably, Vulcan. Kirk, not yet noticing the recognition slowly welling up behind his saviour's gaze, finally caught his breath enough to speak.

"Hey… thank you…" he managed, waving a hand haphazardly in the direction of where the creature had fled.

"Jim?"

Kirk stared up at the old Vulcan, stunned and incredulous.

"Excuse me?!"

"How did you find me?" The Vulcan asked with something close to disbelief, but controlled and far more rational. "Does Starfleet know of my presence?"

Scrambling to his feet, Kirk stared down the stranger, increasingly alarmed.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. _How do you know my name_?"

The Vulcan stared deeply into Kirk, searchingly, contemplating. Countless realisations seemed to wash over him in a split second- as though he was feeling the immeasurable effect of something that was infinitely more powerful than the two of them, stood in the nameless ice-cave on an empty planet, and yet had worked to bring said moment about in a perfect arc.

The old Vulcan softened, logic somehow weakening and bending to emotion.

"I have been," he told him with quiet, profound warmth, "and always shall be, your friend."

Kirk stared, and half-laughed dubiously, shaken.

"Look, I'm sorry, I don't know you- the only Vulcan I know isn't exactly a buddy-"

"I am Spock," the Vulcan said simply.

For a very, very long moment, Kirk was speechless.

His sea-coloured eyes, bright in the torchlight and against his flushed skin, flickered over the Vulcan's face- impossibly, finding a tiny flash of recognition- and he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Bullshit."

* * *

_May 18, 2258 – U.S.S. _Enterprise_, Alpha Quadrant_

"Warp three, sir."

"Course one-five-one, mark three. Laurentian system, sir."

"Thank you, gentlemen," Spock said calmly, seated in the captain's chair, watching the blur of warp-space rip past the view-screen in streams of blue light. The crew were performing admirably, remaining efficient in spite of their recent flash promotions and the unfavourable circumstances; as their captain, if only as temporarily so, Spock was obliged to do the same, to be dispassionate and detached to the threat placed before him. That was the task assigned to him. Spock had to fulfil it. For the sake of the _Enterprise_, he couldn't falter. He _wouldn't_.

"You wanted to see me?" The chief medical officer's voice sounded from behind him, exiting the turbolift. McCoy sounded mildly grouchy, but Spock had quickly come to accept this attitude as the default mentality of the doctor, and rose from his seat unconcerned.

"Yes, Doctor." Spock walked around to the back of the chair to meet McCoy, and spoke discreetly as them moved behind one of the translucent data screens. "I am aware that James Kirk is a friend of yours. I recognise that supporting me as you did must have been difficult."

"Is that a thank-you?" McCoy asked tonelessly.

"I am simply acknowledging your difficulties," Spock replied neutrally. At that, he saw the doctor's expression shift, but into what Spock could not be certain.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

They came to a halt in a secluded corner of the bridge, their conversation shielded behind a pillar. "I welcome it," Spock said honestly.

"Do you? Okay, then." McCoy's polite expression sloughed away, his eyes turned to pale green fire, voice hissing low so that only Spock could hear. "_Are you out of your _Vulcan_ mind_?" Spock's head twitched to one side as he absorbed the abrupt change in demeanour. "Are you making the logical choice, sending Kirk away? Probably. But the _right_ one? You know, back home we got a saying: _if you're going to ride in the Kentucky Derby, you don't leave your prize stallion in the stable._"

"A curious metaphor, Doctor," Spock said lightly, the slightest of wry smiles forming at his mouth at the reversibility of such axioms, "as a stallion must first be broken before it can reach its potential."

The doctor's jaw worked. "Okay. Fine. And what about Winter?"

Spock felt a dull, easily denied sting at the mention of his former student- a feeling that he quickly smothered. While he would not say he had regarded Valravn's success in her classes and character evaluations with pride, for such an emotion would have been both misplaced and illogical, he had certainly valued her presence under his tutelage and watched her fulfil her potential with objective satisfaction. Her exit from her duties had been an- _unfavourable_ outcome.

"I've got her working down in my department doing inventories instead of where she belongs- and that girl is no wild mare, much as she might seem like it," McCoy growled. "She's a goddamn _warrior_, the best player you have in this twisted game Nero is playing, and you put her on the bench."

"You will recall, Doctor, that Miss Winter left her post of her own accord."

"You're telling me your hackles wouldn't be raised if a superior officer acted like you were incapable of doing your job?" McCoy retorted. "Now, I'll be the first to admit that Kirk and Winter are two very different people- but probably the only thing they have in common? Neither of them knows how to lose. It's just not in their DNA. Kirk especially- no matter what the situation, he finds a way to come out on top. You of all people should know that."

Spock stiffened, choosing to ignore the doctor's latter point. "Miss Winter's absence is regrettable, but I hardly see a way to rectifying the situation," he said evenly. "She disagreed with a senior decision, hence she resigned."

McCoy looked incredulous, his temper broiling below the surface. "My _god_, man, you could at least _act_ like it was a hard decision!"

"I intend to assist in the effort to re-establish communication with Starfleet," Spock said coolly. "However, if crew morale is better served by my roaming the halls weeping, I will gladly defer to your medical expertise." Noticing his father stepping onto the bridge, Spock effectively ended the conversation with a hard look. "Excuse me."

Moving to meet Sarek at the threshold of the turbolift, he left McCoy fuming.

"_Green-blooded hobgoblin._"

* * *

_May 18, 2258 – Delta Vega, Vulcan System_

"It is remarkably pleasing to see you, old friend," the ageing Vulcan who had called himself Spock said, stirring up the pit of flame and embers crackling before them; where he had sourced firewood in the barren wastes of Delta Vega, Kirk had no idea, but he had to admit that he was impressed by his resourcefulness. "Especially after the events of today."

_Old friend,_ Kirk repeated internally, rising from where he knelt with a slight twinge of cold muscles and bruised flesh. The absurdity of the situation was verging upon the hilarious.

"Sir- I appreciate what you did for me today," he began, in an attempt at channelled composure, "but if you _were_ Spock, you would know we're not friends. At all. You _hate_ me. You marooned me here for mutiny."

"_Mutiny_?" The Vulcan echoed, his silver-frosted eyebrows rising.

"Yeah," Kirk admitted ruefully, somewhat embarrassed by his actions in retrospect, beginning to pace restlessly. "Or incipient mutiny, or whatever other rationalisation you concocted in that perpetually rationalising brain of yours."

"Then you are not the captain?"

Kirk halted and stared at Spock for a long moment, before forcing out a weak huff of laughter at the implication. _Captain._ He would be lucky if he was still a cadet by the time everything was over.

"No. No, um- _you're_ the captain," Kirk said, turning away, the shredded ice and concrete-hard permafrost that was the ground crunching beneath his boots. "Pike was taken hostage."

Spock was silent for a heartbeat, the information gelling something together in his mind. "By Nero," he finished gravely.

Kirk looked over his shoulder at him, his eyes narrowing. There was a grim realisation in the phrase- a realisation that, by all logical thinking, should have been impossible. The more that Kirk thought about it, the more the notion of _impossibility_ seemed to fade, becoming frailer and more distant the odder that things became, sapping at his certainty. Spock- the _other_ Spock, currently captaining the _Enterprise_\- had proposed that the _Narada_'s possession of weaponry far beyond technology available even in the experimental echelons of Starfleet, and the black market, was the result of time-travel. Kirk knew enough of astrophysics and the warping effects of a black hole to appreciate its theoretical possibility. So, then, if the Romulans had travelled from the future- changing the events of a primary timeline and creating a secondary one in an alternate reality-

Kirk decided to throw hypotheticals out of the proverbial window.

"What do you know about him?"

Spock looked burdened as he answered, his gaze having seen much.

"He is a particularly troubled Romulan," he said simply, an understatement as much as it was containing a strange, desolate pity. He stood suddenly, startling Kirk, and walked towards him. "Please, allow me. It will be easier, more articulate-"

Spock reached out a hand towards his face, and Kirk balked suspiciously.

"Wait- what are you doing-?"

"Our minds," Spock replied solemnly. "One and together."

The phrasing tugged at the back of Kirk's mind, like something long forgotten- and he remained still as Spock gently aligned his fingertips at Kirk's cheek and temple.

"One hundred and twenty-nine years from now, a star will explode and threaten to destroy the galaxy-"

Kirk felt a jolt like an electric shock, and the cave was ripped away.

_That is where I am from, Jim,_ Spock's voice was inside his head, echoing from within, emanating from inside, _the future._

Stars, flaring in their billions, streaked past, asteroid fields, glaring orange-

White. So white that it _hurt_. So white that he felt sick with vertigo. As blindingly white as the midday sun.

He saw a supernova, a devouring mass of radiation, eating away at everything it touched.

_A star went supernova, consuming everything in its path. I promised the Romulans that I would save their planet._

He saw, through Spock's eyes, the diplomatic meeting, sunlight streaming through angular windows- then a dim chamber where the shell of an elegant one-man craft sat, gleaming under the intense glare of a few beads of light- within, Vulcan scientists drifting like spectres, a translucent chamber containing a floating orb of static, gleaming red, supple and glossed as rubber, and infinitely more volatile.

_We outfitted our fastest ship. Using red matter, I would create a black hole which would absorb the exploding star._

He saw the craft- the _Jellyfish_\- cut through space, whirring with the distinctive ring-propeller circling it, flickering as it spun, a blue light at its head- Spock encased within.

_I was en route, when the unthinkable happened._

Angry, ravenous orange fire washed over a planet- it cracked and flaked, disintegrated, blown away like dust. _Gone_.

_Romulus was destroyed._

The steel and luminous white of the interior of the _Jellyfish_ was shuddering, instruments clinking together, and he felt calm yet urgent, something simmering below the surface- _are these Spock's-?_ The needle of a huge syringe was inserted into the chamber of red matter, drawing a droplet into the canister as the plunger was drawn.

_I had little time. I had to extract the red matter and shoot it into the supernova._

The engines of the _Jellyfish_ flickered blue as it drew away from the verge of the supernova at the last minute, the canister spiralling into it- sending out a shockwave within the molten light and forming a drain of hollow black.

_As I began my return trip, I was intercepted._

He saw the face on the communications display, anguished and furious.

_He called himself Nero, last of the Romulan Empire. In my attempt to escape, both of us were pulled into the black hole._

And then he saw it- a sight so similar to what his own father must have seen, all those years ago- a disk of swirling black, only discernible from the rest of space by the way it blotted out the stars behind it, and crackled with blue bolts of lightning around the rim. The _Narada_ was engulfed-

_Nero went through first. He was the first to arrive._

The _Kelvin._ He watched a volley of plasma shots explode on her armour and shear through her silver hull.

_Nero and his crew spent the next twenty-five years awaiting my arrival. But what was years for Nero was only seconds for me._

He saw inside the black hole from within the _Jellyfish_, the immense gravity threatening to tear the craft apart, and he felt the crush, gritting his teeth, _is this the end at last_-

_Nero was waiting for me._

The _Jellyfish_ drifted, trapped.

From within the cargo bay of the _Narada_, he saw Spock emerge from the ship through the blue-illuminated gangway, dressed in crisp white wool, stepping into the darkness, resigned and prepared to face his death.

_He held me responsible for the loss of his world. He captured my vessel and spared my life, for one reason._

Nero towered overhead, menacing and vengeful.

_So that I would know his pain._

Rock, packed snow, cold wind, blue skies- Delta Vega. The sun was brilliant behind an ice formation at his back.

_He beamed me here so that I could observe his vengeance. As he was helpless to save his planet, I would be helpless to save mine._

And, through long-distance telepathy, Kirk watched, together and powerless with Spock, as Vulcan crumbled and imploded, crumpling, collapsing in upon itself, a crackling roiling orb of light and unnatural storm flashing from within, disintegrating the planet piece by piece. It disappeared from the skies without any trace that it had ever been there, the souls stranded upon it wiped away from the surface of the galaxy alongside deserts and cities and infrastructure that had been home to them.

And Kirk _felt_ it.

He felt that _pain _in his chest, the loss and despair and overwhelming guilt, as though the dying cries of every last Vulcan that had been lost upon their planet had been gathered and wrapped around his heart.

_Billions of lives lost- because of _me_, Jim. Because I failed._

Spock closed his eyes against the skies of Delta Vega in grief, and the connection snapped like a wire.

Kirk was back in the cave- his body had never left, but it felt as though he had travelled a thousand light years while he was still within it- and he was gasping, physically shaking, tears glossing over his vision, warm as they tracked down his face.

If he had still had a reason left not to believe what he had been told, they had been obliterated.

"Forgive me," Spock said softly. "Emotional transference is an effect of the mind-meld."

Kirk stumbled away a few paces, lungs burning, shaky on his feet. Spock did not follow, seeming to understand his need to collect the pieces of himself before he fell apart completely.

Swiping the tears from his eyes, Kirk gasped out with a flash of terrible understanding and sympathy, "_So you do feel_."

"Yes. _Cthia_ is the stricture that binds our emotions… but few of us are that perfectly Vulcan."

Kirk steeled himself, still dazed, as though he had awoken from a surreal dream.

"Going back in time- you changed all our lives."

He turned back to the Vulcan, who looked pensive behind his dark eyes and heavily lined face. "Yet remarkably," the older Spock commented, "events within our timelines, characteristics, people- all seem to overlap. I cannot restrain my curiosity. What of the rest of the crew of- I assume that you were of course on the _Enterprise_. What of Chekov-? Uhura-?"

Kirk felt a shiver trickle down his spine.

"Tactical and communications-"

"Sulu-?"

"Helmsman- why?" Kirk answered, feeling the weight of something beyond him, suddenly with a million questions on the tip of his tongue and not nearly enough time to have them all answered.

But would he _want_ them answered? He had said it himself; the future was changed, irrevocably. Would he want to know what could have been? What might _never_ be?

Spock was silent for a moment, as though weighing his words carefully.

"Dr McCoy would assert that our meeting is not a matter of coincidence- but rather, an indication of a higher purpose."

_Fate. Destiny. _Kirk barked out a short laugh.

"He'd call it a damn miracle," he said.

"Yes he would," Spock agreed, and Kirk thought he saw the slightest glimmer of something akin to affection in his expression_. _Kirk had to wonder if that emotion ran as deeply as those he had felt through the mind-meld, locked away under logic. "Perhaps this is the time stream's way of attempting to heal itself. In both our histories, the same crew found its way onto the same ship at a time of ultimate crisis- and therein lies our advantage."

Spock, suddenly purposeful, made his way towards one of the ice-tunnels leading out of the hollowed cave, a low opaque blue in the firelight.

"We must go, Jim. The future past waits for no man- or Vulcan. There is a largely automated Starfleet outpost not far from here- its communications facilities are intermittent and were inadequate to contact and warn Vulcan in time, but we may have use of them now." He turned back to Kirk. "Once, between us, we were able to prevent catastrophe. Perhaps it can be so again."

"Wait," Kirk cut in, stepping forwards, seized by a sudden thought and almost frightened to ask, but unbearably curious and unwilling to back away. He was willing to follow him- willing to trust the cryptic stranger for reasons he couldn't articulate- but, despite feeling almost scared to hear the answer, he needed to know. "Where you came from… did I know my father?"

"Yes," Spock said simply, watching Kirk absorb the knowledge of what might have been with the silent warmth of a lifelong friend, austere as it was on its surface. "You often spoke of him as your inspiration for joining Starfleet. He proudly lived to see you become captain of the _Enterprise._"

"_Captain_?" Kirk echoed softly, feeling the shadow of a disbelieving smile at his mouth, softer by the firelight.

"A ship we must return you to as soon as possible," Spock said neutrally.

Kirk was about to agree vaguely, still taking in the implications of what Spock had said, when he felt an abrupt realisation strike him between the shoulders- as sharp as the blade nestled in his jacket pocket, close to his heart.

_Wait._

_No Nero. No attack on the _Kelvin_. No Frank. No being sent to Tarsus IV. No aimlessly wandering for years. No Storm Lake. No bar-fight. No meeting Pike. No signing up to Starfleet and going to San Francisco on a whim the next day. No missing the funeral. No drinking in Black Glass that night._

_No Valravn Winter._

No Valravn Winter.

"_Valravn_," Kirk breathed.

He heard Spock's footsteps halt. His vision was fringed with black, feeling the panic rise inside his chest cavity, lungs contracting as though filled with smoke.

"No- no, _n_-! Wait- wait, but- but we would have still been in the same graduating class- right? I _had_ to have known her- we would have- I _had_ to have- tell me-" Kirk directed a desperate glare at Spock, the old Vulcan watching over him with hawkish concern. "Where you come from- your timeline- _did I know Valravn Winter_?!"

There was something in Spock's gaze that hinted at his mind calculating a thousand steps ahead of Kirk, akin to the expression he sometimes saw in Valravn- only a hundred times more potent.

"I believe I know of whom you speak, but I cannot be certain. Would you mind elaborating?"

"Security Chief, combat specialist- Pike's niece- a _genius_\- strong- and- and she's- _beautiful_," Kirk said faintly, his voice distant in his own ears, the cave re-emerging from the blackness into his vision in deep, glassy blue of the ice sheeting the walls and orange firelight casting looming shadows against the rock. _Hard as Kevlar, supple as leather, heart of diamond. The night and winter made flesh- dark and serene, pale and perfect, frost and starlight._ "Long black hair, piercing blue eyes like frost, white skin- she's like something out of a fairytale. She's unbelievably clever- a brilliant, cold-blooded fighter- she doesn't show what she's thinking and feeling, doesn't like saying it, but I think she feels things so intensely that she feels like _has_ to push them down." Kirk realised that he was rambling, barely filtering what was spilling out of his mouth. "She's tough, and bright, and so damn _calm_ even when everything is going to hell, and- and _sweet_."

He paused, smiling to himself secretively.

"She… she can be sweet. _Fragile_. Just please don't tell her I said that," he added, laughing breathlessly, his blood pounding through his veins.

"How old is she?"

"Nineteen this December."

"And you have known her for how long?"

"Two years as of last month."

Spock nodded, processing the information carefully, gloved hands clasped behind him at the small of his back. Kirk saw an unmistakable flash of the younger Commander Spock for an instant, wondering if it was simply a nuance of Vulcan body language.

"I see. It appears we speak of the same _Valravn_. You most certainly knew her, where I am from."

Even as a wave of relief crashed over Kirk, he heard the bittersweetness in Spock's following words.

"You loved her there, too- equally ardently, I believe."

Kirk felt heat creep up his neck and laughed nervously, embarrassed- but he didn't deny it.

"_That_ obvious, huh?" Kirk asked tremulously.

Had he been human, Spock's tone might have almost carried the undercurrents of a chuckle. "Yes. I know you well, Jim." He paused, mulling something over deeply for a moment, and a glint appeared in his gaze. "Do you trust her?"

Kirk could only stare at him blankly, and wonder what had happened in the other timeline to make this version of Spock ask such a ridiculous question. "With my life," Kirk answered without a hint of reservation, as though it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

"Then," Spock replied firmly, "you must never let go of that trust. What was once between you is a terribly powerful thing. It was once a catalyst for great achievement and unspeakable destruction. Things are very different, in this timeline," Spock assured him. "And your future is your own. My advice to you is to be patient with her, and trust her as best you can."

Kirk stared back at him mutely, unbalanced and his guard disintegrating, feeling as though a shadow was passing over him. From the way he spoke, it was evident that something awful must have occurred in the timeline that this Spock- Spock _Prime_, for want of a better appellation- had come from.

"Trust her," Kirk echoed, jaw set, a determined look dancing in his eyes. "I can do that."

Spock nodded approvingly, turning back to the mouth of the ice-tunnel, gestured for Kirk to follow.


	12. Chapter XII: Prodigal

_**A/N: **It's... been so long... I'm so sorry for the wait!_

_But, yes, I'm back. Sort of. For the record, university applications are stressful. So are retakes. So is everything in my life right now..._

_Anyway, this chapter was actually relatively okay to write. We're finally back aboard the_ Enterprise_! I may do some edits later, but seeing as you guys have all waited so long for this, I decided to post it tonight. As ever, my apologies for the (ridiculously long, this time) delay- and enjoy._

* * *

XII  
_Prodigal_

_May 18, 2258 – Delta Vega, Vulcan System_

The outpost was the smear of Starfleet's fingerprint- the sole mark of any humanoid presence on the ice-encrusted planet, a tiny artificial island of erosion-resistant metal alloys and solar panels in the endless sea of a savagely cold landscape; Spock Prime had to point out the structure to Kirk as they had crested a foothill. The interior of the outpost was stripped, dimly lit, lined with hissing pipes and white tile and flickering overhead lights that gave the narrow corridors a vaguely green tint. The facility, it seemed, was perfectly functioning, but a far cry from the sleek immaculate aesthetics of most Starfleet bases, indicating how neglected the post was when it came to HQ's priorities.

The door behind them slammed shut, locking out the storm of snow, and a disembodied stream of some incomprehensible alien language responded from somewhere within the complex.

"_Hello_?" Kirk called back into the long hallway in response, tugging his hood down. Spock Prime didn't as much as flinch at the sharp echo of Kirk's voice.

There was a distant clatter of a metallic tool being cast aside, and then a figure appeared at the end of the corridor, jogging towards them.

When he drew to a halt in front of them, he lifted a pair of black soldering-goggles away from his eyes- dark as molasses, set deep inside his skull- and stared up at the unexpected arrivals without any obvious expression, wearing the recognisable crimson of Starfleet engineering and operations underneath something akin to a coat, black, oil-stained and tattered. He was of a humanoid alien race that Kirk knew but currently couldn't place a name to, whose main features were grey, deeply-ridged flesh, a height of less than four feet, and a known economy with words.

With a terse, calculating look, scrutinising the old Vulcan and the young human behind him in turn, he turned and gestured with a brief wave for them to follow.

Though he couldn't be sure, somewhere en route, Kirk thought he heard him introduce himself to the Vulcan as _Keenser_, which was honestly more of a conversation than he was expecting.

They were led wordlessly down the long hallway through to a large, open chamber; separated solely by red iron support beams at regular intervals, automated machinery and conduits that generated and supplied electricity and water and coolant throbbing around them, the place could be classed as the facility's primary workspace and easily mistaken for a low-ceiling storage warehouse. A large floor-vent vent emitted a deep red glow and clouds of harmless vapour at their right, shelves, desks and miscellaneous hanging wires that connected consoles to the main power source crammed into its centre. It was there, hemmed in by workbenches and desks strewn with spare parts, tools, PADDS and misplaced chrome instrumentation, that another figure, who appeared to comprise the rest of the outpost team, sat. Apparently human, male, he was swathed in multiple thermal coats and scarves, a single leather work-glove resting across his eyes in an impromptu sleep-mask, boots propped up on the edge of the closest flat surface. A creature in a silver cage next to him- an odd alien orb appearing to be composed entirely of orange fluff- purred and chirruped contently.

Walking over to him, Keenser delivered a single unceremonious smack to the figure's knee.

"_What_?" He bit out in Standard Federation English, thickly accented, with the robust, unmistakable dialect of the Scottish Highlands. Despite the globalisation and then interplanetary lingua franca use of Standard English casing most distinctive regional dialects to steadily fade over time, nuances in accents and inflection had stubbornly survived within the nations that had been predominantly English-speaking for years. And, as Valravn had once assured Kirk, Scotland was notoriously resistant to anyone or anything telling it what to do.

The human snapped the glove away from his face, sitting up irritably. At Keenser's mute gesture in their direction, he looked over and took in the sight of the Kirk and Spock Prime.

His glare immediately slackened into flat annoyance.

"Do you realise how _unacceptable_ this is?"

"Fascinating," Spock Prime commented, unconcerned.

"What?" Kirk asked.

"Okay, I'm sure you're just doing your jobs, but could you not have come a wee bit sooner?" The nameless man chastised, throwing his legs off the edge of the luminous table and brandishing a split aluminium packet with disdain, tossing it aside unceremoniously, scattering the pellets within. "_Six months _I've been here, living off Starfleet protein nibs and the promise of a good meal! And I _know_," he added, jabbing an accusing digit in their direction, "_exactly_ what is going on here, okay? Punishment, isn't it? Ongoing. For something that was _clearly_ an accident."

"You," Spock Prime declared, "are Montgomery Scott."

Kirk was feeling increasingly out of the loop. "You know him?"

"Aye, that's me, you're in the right place," Scott continued lightly, though the rapid manner in which he spoke and fixation on a single topic brought to Kirk's mind a verbal bulldozer. "Unless there's another hardworking, equally starved Starfleet officer around."

"Me," Keenser piped up indignantly.

"_Get aff_\- shut up! You don't eat anything! You eat, like, a _bean_, and you're done! I'm talking about food. _Real_ food," Scott returned his attention back to Spock Prime and Kirk. "But, you're here now, so thank you. Where is it?"

"You are, in fact, the Mr Scott who postulated the theory of transwarp beaming," Spock stated, phrasing it as an implicit question, undeterred by the fact that there seemed to be two entirely different conversations being conducted at once. It was a skill that Kirk silently vowed to see if he could perfect.

"That's what I'm talking about! How do you think I wound up here?" Scott said, slumping back in his seat and gesturing at their lacklustre surroundings half-heartedly. "Too smart to waste and too reckless to trust, that's what they said at the- well, it wasn't really a _court martial_. Wasn't like there was an actual regulation they could charge me with, so they just called it a 'transfer' officially."

Kirk remembered Valravn teasing him that Pike would have him sent to some obscure outpost if he ever misbehaved badly enough, and found himself unbearably curious. "What'd you do to end up in this vacation paradise?"

"Ah, well, laddie. I had a _little_ debate with my instructor on the issue of relativistic physics and how it pertains to subspace travel. He seemed to think that the range of transporting something like a- like a grapefruit was limited to about a hundred miles. I told him I could not only beam a grapefruit from one planet to the adjacent planet in the same system- which is _easy_, by the way-" Scott added with contempt, "I could do it with a life form." Confused, impressed by the flood of specialist vernacular, and ever so slightly amused, Kirk glanced down at Keenser, who merely shook his head up at him with something that might have been profound exasperation. "So, I tested it on Admiral Archer's prize beagle," the engineer concluded, toasting them with a metal cup of lukewarm coffee, taking a draught.

"I know that dog," Kirk said with sudden realisation. "What happened to it?"

Scott swallowed his mouthful of coffee thickly. "I'll tell you when it reappears," he said sheepishly, grimacing. "I don't know. I do feel guilty about that…"

"What if I told you that your transwarp beaming theory was correct?" Spock Prime said. "That it is indeed possible to beam onto a ship that is travelling at warp speed?"

Scott snorted. "I think if that equation had been discovered, I'd have heard about it."

"The reason that you haven't heard of it, Mr Scott," Spock Prime announced evenly, "is because you haven't discovered it yet."

Scott's expression dropped into pure shock, and Kirk felt nothing but empathy.

Stuttering for a few moments, he rolled to his feet, chestnut gaze flickering back and forth between the two strangers.

"I'm sor- what, you- are you from the _future_?"

"Yeah. He is. I'm not," Kirk explained nonchalantly.

Scott stared at them for a moment longer.

"Well, that's brilliant. Do they still have sandwiches there?"

The engineer's scepticism, mercifully, quickly gave way to a buoyant laissez-faire demeanour that had led to him showing them, at Spock Prime's request and promise of empirical proof, and after an animated discussion with Keenser, to the only location on the base capable of beaming.

"Well, she's a wee bit dodgy!" Scott- or _Scotty_, as he had cheerfully corrected Kirk- announced exuberantly as he led him over to a compact shuttle. Confirming Scott's diagnosis on its surface, the maintenance craft was industrial-strength but somewhat dilapidated, the sleek lines rusting, the teal-green glow from underneath confirming it as operational, resting inert amidst a knotted complex of seething coolant pipes. Kirk had learned in the very short amount of time that he had known him that Scott made up thrice over for his squat companion's lack of talkativeness.

"Shield emitters are-" Scott rang the head of a paint-spattered wrench against the corner of her hull, "totally banjaxed, as well as a few other things. On youse go!" He directed Kirk towards the open hatch on its right flank that Spock Prime had already slipped away into, idly tossing the wrench into the air and catching the heavy tool in the same hand deftly. "So, the _Enterprise_ has had its maiden voyage, has it? She is one well-endowed lady. I'd like to get my hands on her ample nacelles, if you'll pardon the engineering parlance."

Ducking inside the cramped interior, the holographic screens gathering a film of dust, transporting pads clearly disused, they found Spock Prime already at a console, entering stream after stream of complex encoding into an otherwise blank screen without pause or hesitation- dictating every line from memory, not composing afresh. The Vulcan's hands moved faster and more deftly than should have been possible at his age.

"Except," Scott continued, throwing himself into the seat beside Spock Prime's monitor, "even if I did believe you- you know, where you're from, what I've done- which I _don't_, by the way," he added, standing and beginning to wander through the craft, "you're still talking about beaming aboard the _Enterprise_ while she's travelling faster than light without a proper receiving pad- _get off there_!" Scott interjected when he spied Keenser perched on one of the bars separating adjacent transport pads. The alien simply stared back defiantly. "It's not a climbing frame! The notion of transwarp beaming is like trying to hit a bullet with a smaller bullet whilst wearing a blindfold, riding a horse," Scott concluded, and came to a halt at Spock Prime's shoulder. "What's that?"

"Your completed equations for achieving transwarp beaming," Spock Prime informed him as he rose from the console. The panel beeped and whirred obediently, accepting the parameters that had been entered, and Scott claimed the recently vacated seat dubiously.

"Get out of it," he muttered- then examined the equation, and froze where he sat. The engineer leaned towards the screen, gaping in delighted incredulity. "Imagine that! It never occurred to me to think of it from the perspective of the _beamed_ rather than the _beamer_."

"Point in fact," Spock Prime replied, "it did occur to you."

As Scott became immersed, revelling in the perfected version of his theory spelled out before him in cool digital print, Kirk closed the distance between himself and Spock Prime, who was tinkering with adjunct equations on a different terminal, calculating the _Enterprise's_ course.

"You're coming with us, right?"

Kirk knew what the answer would be before he heard it. Spock Prime turned, solemn.

"No, Jim," he said quietly. "That is not my destiny."

"Your _des_-?" Kirk echoed- of all possible excuses, he hadn't expected such flimsy reasoning from a Vulcan. He paused for a moment, speechless, as he tried to find a way to translate the stream of incomprehensible profanity-laced yelling inside his head into something calm and coherent. If he had earned anything from his dealings with the younger Spock, it was that the only thing that got him anywhere was logic. "The other Spock is not going to believe me, only you can explain what the hell's happened-"

"Under no circumstances can he be made aware of my existence," Spock Prime interrupted firmly. "You must promise me this."

"You're telling me that I can't tell you that I'm following _your own orders_?" Kirk asked incredulously. "Why not? What happens?"

"Jim, this is one rule you cannot break. To stop Nero, you alone must take command of your ship."

_Your ship._ The phrase sent a chill down his spine; the concept of the _Enterprise_ existing in any way, in any universe, as his, was distractingly thrilling.

"How? Over your dead body?" Jim suggested sarcastically.

"Preferably not," Spock Prime said dryly, barely a missed beat, as though it was actually been a viable option he had considered. Kirk felt a sting of amusement and decided that he definitely liked the Spock standing in front of him better than his younger counterpart; for one, he was almost in possession of a sense of humour. "However, there is Starfleet Regulation 6.19- which states that any command officer who is emotionally compromised by the mission at hand must resign said command."

Kirk tapped his knuckles against his side, an ache forming behind his left brow. "So- you're saying that I have to emotionally compromise you… guys," he amended at the last moment. The plural was beginning to confuse him.

Spock Prime's expression shifted and, had he been human, Kirk thought he might have sighed.

"Jim, I just lost my planet," he said quietly. "I can tell you: I am emotionally compromised. What you must do is get me to show it."

Even in the bright overhead lamps, Spock Prime's eyes were as dark and almost haunted with all that he had lived through. Kirk suddenly remembered his own dazed words as he emerged from the mind-meld: _so you do feel_.

Though he still wasn't quite sure he knew how to feel about the revelation, Kirk knew that the Spock who stood before him and the Spock who was currently captaining the _Enterprise_ were one and the same, the only difference being a hundred years, give or take a few decades, and the experiences contained within them. And he had felt for himself the true depth of emotion that a Vulcan- _this_ Vulcan, or half-Vulcan, if genetics were to be quibbled over- was capable of feeling beneath a carefully controlled mask.

_Emotions are not meant to be ignored. Stop shutting them out, James, before they rot you from the inside._

Suddenly, there didn't seem to be too much of a difference between the mindless haze of alcohol and the cold, rational chains of regulation and protocol.

"Right then, laddie- live or die, let's get this over with," Scott interrupted, reminding them that they were on a tight schedule.

Kirk turned away, knowing that if he let himself ask another question he would never stem the flow, moving to stand on one of the pads separated out by hollow metal bars. Scott nudged Keenser back firmly from his own transport pad with a muttered assurance, the alien seeming reluctant to allow his associate to leave.

Kirk locked eyes with Spock Prime resolutely, leaning on his forearms over the frame marking out the transport booth and dipping his head underneath.

"You know, coming back in time, changing history," Kirk stated calmly, "that's _cheating_."

Spock Prime nodded slightly, a smile in his eyes.

"A trick I learned from an old friend."

Kirk considered him intently, and found a smile pulling up at the corner of his mouth.

Spock Prime activated the transporter and lifted his right hand in salute, fingers separated into pairs.

"Live long," he said with the utmost sincerity, "and prosper."

Kirk resolutely stepped back behind the sheet of etched frosted glass, the familiar sensation of his body dispersing as though into champagne bubbles taking hold as threads of light encased him and filled his vision, a high pitched whine filling his ears.

The two columns of light within the tiny shuttle surged blindingly, faded, and disappeared.

* * *

_May 18, 2258 – U.S.S. _Enterprise

A single drop of bright oxygenated red spattered onto white ceramic.

The thread of blood glided over the curve of her finger, dripping from just above her first knuckle. She stared down at the cut apathetically, numb to whatever pain there was; the scalpel that had caught her finger as it slipped from her hand was resting on the surface before her with an array of other surgical tools, tip stained with a sliver of silver-red.

Valravn blinked.

"At least I was sterilising them anyway."

"That looks painful," McCoy commented carefully, hovering in the doorway. Valravn didn't look up, the look behind her eyes blank and flat. "You want to let me seal that off for you?"

"No, it's fine. Doesn't hurt." Valravn lifted a hand to her mouth and sucked the blood off her finger. "It looks worse than it is. It should have closed up on its own by the time this batch is cleaned." She carefully licked the pad of her fingertip, continuing to sort the other tools set before her with her free hand. "How is the department? Busy?"

"Cooling off," McCoy said nonchalantly, hauling in a box of dermal regenerators that needed to be cleaned, circular test-tube holders crammed with empty vials and hypospray vessels rattling and clinking atop them, "finally. No rest for the wicked, though."

"Is that why the chief medical officer is so idle that he has resorted to lugging equipment to the cleaning room?"

"Heard you were in here. Everyone else is scared of you," McCoy explained seamlessly, shrugging.

"Liar. Stop checking up on me."

McCoy heaved a sigh, shunting the box onto one of the work surfaces. "Raven-"

"_Don't_." Valravn cut him off.

McCoy knew that he should have almost been able to see the air crystallising around her, cold fog rolling off her shoulders and arms like the chill from a glacier. She so often made him think of carved marble, or ice- hard, fierce, distant, immutable- more an idol of a goddess of war than blood and bone.

Instead, this time, there was only something hollow.

"Jim would kill me if I didn't-"

"_I_ will kill you if you do," she countered him, snapping on the steriliser, the machine humming to life with UV light, casting out a bright band from the lamps set within the smooth white plastic and chrome casing, "and considering that I am the one in closer proximity, it would be wise to consider my reaction over his."

"So you're telling me I shouldn't be worried?" McCoy asked, sarcasm deepening the Southern twang.

"You have an entire ward to fret over," Valravn replied with a bored flourish of her wrist, and leaned forwards against the counter on her elbows.

_And you have everything and nothing to worry about,_ McCoy thought to himself. Valravn Winter was not meant to be bored or stationary in a crisis; it was like she had fallen out of sync with the universe.

She pressed the pad of her finger to her tongue again, tracing over the cut absently.

"Sure you don't want me to take a look at that?"

Valravn smiled blankly, removing the tip of her finger from her mouth. The cut didn't well and spill over with red this time, remaining a bloodless slit white.

"_Kindness is wasted on the wicked._ But thank you for offering anyway."

"Fine," McCoy muttered, sensing that he was fighting a losing battle, "but look, if you need-"

"Leonard," she said tonelessly, "please, stop hiding in here and go and do your job attending to your _actual_ patients before one of us _dies_. If it's me it will be from repressed rage, but if it's you, it will be from a blow to the temporal lobe."

"See, _this_ is why my nurses are scared of you."

"_Out_."

* * *

_May 18, 2258 – U.S.S. _Enterprise

Spock Prime had calculated a margin of error with the beaming destination of approximately four metres. It was a margin that didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things- unless, of course, it involved them rematerializing outside or bisected by the _Enterprise's_ walls.

Kirk didn't have the opportunity to worry about such things, however- in retrospect, there was little point; even knowing whether it was going to work or whether he was to be scattered across the far reaches of the cosmos wouldn't have changed his mind about going through with it. One moment, his vision was filled with piercing white, every molecule in his body being painlessly deconstructed and reconstructed, and the next he was standing, whole, dropped onto the floor of a relatively open engineering deck: surrounded on all sides by a complex labyrinth of catwalks and tall chrome silos and pipes and towers and low beams and a vast filtration system that pumped water through the entire starship- the oil that made the gears glide, the clockwork behind the quartz face.

Looking around himself, grinning in near disbelief- the _Enterprise_, they had made it, he was here, not a single hair out of place- Kirk was surprised to note that the engineer was not beside him.

"_Mr Scott_?"

The call echoed sharply across the empty deck.

Then there was an odd, dull banging from close by, almost like-

Kirk's smile dropped in a flash of realisation, and he spun on his heel.

Directly behind him was a cylindrical coolant tank- connected to the network of massive pipes snaking across the deck, bolted and sealed together and in place with bands of orange-coated metal. Running up to it and pressing his ear to the tower, Kirk yelled out again.

"Mr Scott, _can you hear me_?!"

He jolted back as he heard something release inside with the dull _clank_ of a valve. A figure swam out into the wide water pipe, dark clothes swirling, suspended in the water and pounding against the clear metal, a storm of bubbles emerging from his mouth with a muffled yell.

Scott had, at least, arrived intact. That was the only positive.

"Ah- um-" Kirk leaned down towards the pipe tapped his fingertips against the transparent, thick unbreakable composite, mind racing for a way to fish him out but drawing a rare mental blank. Somehow, this situation hadn't been covered in basic training. "Hold on a second-"

Scott's eyes suddenly widened. With distant _thrum_ and whoosh of machinery, he was abruptly swept away in a flash of flailing limbs, automatic systems triggering.

For a split second, Kirk could only stare in disbelief before he was scrambling after Scott, sprinting parallel to the massive pipe, fighting to keep up with the dark blur and inwardly panicking about the engineer's lack of oxygen. Shucking off his heavy coat, now surplus, Kirk let it drop behind him as he gave chase, only to see Scott winding through a U-bend and shooting back in the opposite direction. Kirk skidded to a halt and swung around, catching up just in time to see Scott sucked up through a vertical pipe-

"No, _no_-!"

Kirk tore after him, and halted, eyes following the twisting path of the offending conduit overhead.

His shoulders dropped in horror.

_Holy-_

Kirk found himself staring up at a large cylindrical chamber housing what he was sure was a very clever filtration and centrifugal distribution mechanism- but, with its rapidly revolving curved silver blades, Scott rocketing straight towards it, looked more like a massive human-sized blender.

Frantic, Kirk's gaze snagged on an emergency release valve- a cuff of red metal on the pipe- designed to prevent accidental blockages of excess pressure from damaging the system.

_Control panel, get to the control panel,_ his mind tossed out to him, surprisingly lucid, and he bolted to the nearest terminal, fingers darting over the screen. He realised he was shaking.

_Think, think, think- _focus_. Calm. You know this._

The relevant safeguards lit up obediently under his touch, turning green with confirmation, an automated feminine voice sounding across the floor. Kirk looked up just in time to see the hatch burst open, dumping out a torrent in a crashing deluge of frothing white onto the smooth-surfaced crimson floor, along with an alive, if badly bruised, Montgomery Scott.

Kirk moved to help him up, gripping the waterlogged engineer's shoulder as he coughed, expelling the water from his lungs, droplets still pattering down from the open release valve like rain around them, adding to the puddle at their feet.

"_You alright_?"

Scott spat out another mouthful of water, gasping in air. "My head's buzzing and I'm soaked, but otherwise I'm fine!"

Breathing out a huff of relief, Kirk gripped Scott's upper arm and helped him to his feet.

"Come on, we gotta go- someone will have noticed that."

Kirk was not wrong.

At that very moment, at his post on the bridge of the _Enterprise_, Ensign Chekov- recently assigned the commission of security chief, the heavy title precariously stacked atop his various other daunting duties; something that he was not entirely happy about, particularly since the lieutenant had shown a steel in her soul that made him starkly aware that he made for a poor substitute- saw an utterly unexpected notification window appear on one of his screens.

His eyebrows dipped into a shallow frown.

"Captain Spock," he announced. "Detecting unauthorised access to Water Turbine Control Board."

The acting captain, who had been conversing quietly with his father to one side, unfolded his arms and moved to stand in front of the captain's chair.

"Bring up the video."

With a few firm taps, Chekov overrode the cameras and connected the terminal to the main screen, drawing up the window containing the surveillance footage onto the translucent view screen. A blonde figure dressed all in black ran into the camera' scope of vision, helping another less familiar figure up, before- almost as though he felt the digital eye focused between his shoulder blades like a set of crosshairs- just as quickly darted out of frame.

Spock, unhesitating, leaned forwards and pressed down on one of the intraship audio connection controls.

"Security, seal the engineering deck. We have intruders in Turbine Section Three. Set phasers to stun."

Kirk vaulted down narrow set of stairs and up another, winding the quickest path he could find through the complex of narrow catwalks, Scott skittering behind him, rows of giant silos ripping past either side of him in a smeared blur of curving, glossily reflective chrome and spray-painted radioactive warning signs, red warning lights flashed. Kirk was certain that they were drawing unwanted attention from every maintenance worker they passed in a manner similar to a small hurricane, but with security at their heels, Kirk was willing to make the trade of speed over subtlety as the alarm blared across the deck.

Running up into a tight walkway hidden away from the suspended catwalks, praying that pipes and steam vents could help mask them from anyone tracking them via the surveillance feeds, Kirk skidded to an abrupt halt as he saw two hulking figures in security-red shirts pitching towards them purposefully. He spun around, almost colliding with Scott and making to sprint in the opposite direction- only to see a second team cutting them off.

_Damn_.

Kirk hardened as a security officer stormed towards him. Behind him, Scott had given a sound of defeat and raised both hands in surrender, but Kirk was frankly too close to brimming over with frustration to feel even remotely willing to defer to anyone for anything at that moment- despite of the fact that the officer before him was built like a tank. A glower was etched onto his vaguely familiar features, a chrome phaser pointed at his chest and a glint of something that was discouragingly akin to vengeance in his eyes.

When he spoke, Kirk understood why with a flash of maddened recognition.

"Come with me- _cupcake_."

_Oh,_ fantastic.

* * *

Even as the doors of the lift slid open and the security personnel flanking him steered him onto the glossily bright bridge, Kirk remained proudly defiant. One way or another, he was where he needed to be; in fact, if he needed any last shred of evidence that Spock was not thinking as logically as he would like to claim, this was it. The smart thing to do would have been to send him to the brig and _then_ interrogate him, not bring him directly onto the bridge where he could cheerfully wreak havoc.

Still, Kirk wouldn't complain. The situation suited his designs perfectly- an environment where Spock was required to be professional while Kirk proceeded to bait and antagonise him as much as physically possible. As genuine as the sentiment would have been at that point, somehow Kirk didn't think that the empathetic approach would be of any use; they were far, far past that. Instead, he would have to be everything the Spock expected of him, and worse. Kirk would have to be callous, belligerent- he would have to be _cruel_.

_More pressure means more stress. More stress means more cracks._

_Okay. Let's start making some cracks._

His every motion was as controlled and unhurried as ever, yet somehow Spock was standing in front of them before Kirk had taken more than three steps onto the bridge, every inch of the acting captain reading of what Kirk recognised as tenuously controlled agitation. Kirk could sympathise with the sentiment- Spock had ordered him tossed off the ship, no doubt personally ensuring that the pod was deployed with him inside, and yet he was back. _Again_.

The threat of the destruction of the Federation aside, it was actually pretty funny.

"Who are you?" Spock directed brusquely at Scott, who was standing at Kirk's left and still dripping wet.

"I'm with him-"

"He's with me," Kirk said calmly, deftly deflecting Spock's attention back to him.

"We are travelling at warp speed," Spock said, his posture seething with tension. "How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?"

"Hey, you're the genius, you figure it out," Kirk returned carelessly.

"As acting captain of this vessel, I order you to answer the question," Spock demanded, his tone harder than diamond. "You are a prisoner; you have nowhere to go. This question impinges on the very security of Starfleet itself, and I assure you that I will utilise whatever authorised methods are at my disposal to convince you to answer me."

"Well I'm not telling, _acting captain_," Kirk intoned with cool composure, meeting his searching stare without so much as flinching.

The bluntly insolent response seemed to leave Spock without a tenable response.

Kirk grinned, calculatingly.

"What, does- what, now, that doesn't _frustrate_ you, does it, my lack of cooperation? That doesn't make you _angry_-"

"Are you a member of Starfleet?" Spock asked Scott sharply, pointedly ignoring Kirk.

_Oh no you don't,_ Kirk thought, _I'm just getting warmed up. Like it or not, you're getting those demons out._

Scott blinked. "Ah, um- yes, could I get a _towel_, please-?"

"Under penalty of court martial, I order you to explain to me how you were able to beam aboard this ship while moving at warp."

"Well-"

"Don't answer him," Kirk commanded.

Scott immediately stopped talking, something compelling in Jim's voice.

"You _will_ answer me," Spock said darkly, an edge seeping into his voice that made Kirk certain that he was internally frustrated beyond measure.

Scott's eyes darted between the acting captain and Kirk. "I'd rather not take sides…"

"What is _with_ you, Spock?" Kirk interrupted, taking a deliberate step towards the acting captain and into his space. Spock's eyes moved to him, but he remained where he was, refusing to react. "Huh? Your planet was just destroyed- your mother murdered and- you're not even _upset_-"

"If you are presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to command this ship, you are mistaken," Spock said, unblinking, sounding dangerously close to defensive.

"And yet you were the one who said that fear is necessary for command," Kirk replied icily, voice lowering. "I mean, did you _see_ his ship? Did you see what he _did_?"

Spock hesitated for a single beat too long.

"Yes," he said tightly, something in his stare suddenly haunted, "of course I-"

"So are you afraid or aren't you? Are you _angry_?"

"I will not allow you to lecture me on the merits of emotion," Spock said sharply.

"Then why don't you _stop me_?" Kirk challenged him, a menacing fire burning low in his voice like a brazier.

"Step away from me, Mr Kirk-"

"What is it like not to feel anger?" He continued brazenly, spurred onwards by the storm he could sense underneath that expressionless façade, ignoring the increasingly anxious gazes of the bridge crew- including McCoy, who was watching the exchange apprehensively- on them. "Or heartbreak? Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who _gave birth to you_?"

Spock's tone lived up to the namesake of his homeworld; Kirk could hear the volcanic heat surging from underneath his expressionless mask.

"_Back away from me-_"

There was something about the words, something quiet caught between intense grief, pain and pure wrath, which told Kirk he had just found the perfect pressure point.

"You feel _nothing_!" He shouted, the accusation slicing the air and resonating across the bridge, into the dead silence, interrupted only by the constant beep of the stations. Kirk realised that his hands were clenched at his sides, something welling up from behind his chest in an echo of aching guilt and loss- _ignoring emotions is not controlling them._ "It must not even _compute_ for you."

Kirk hesitated for a heartbeat of a second, starkly aware that what he was about to say was beyond heartless, and silently uttering an apology in advance.

_I'm sorry._

"You _never_ loved her!"

And then Kirk was seeing stars.

He fell back against something solid, pain exploding across his jaw- Spock had snapped with a roar of pure _feeling_\- and felt two hands grasp his shirt at the shoulders, pulling him up and around, giving him only a sliver of a moment to recover and attempt to parry the shower of frighteningly efficient blows that followed. Spock was a blur of movement, relentless, fuelled by rage, snarling like a demon, fast and brutal- Kirk blocked another strike to the jaw, only to receive one to the sternum that knocked the air out of his lungs and sent him stumbling back, barely barring at attack from above with both arms.

A painful combination to the stomach and throat pounded against him and sent him crashing against a terminal- he felt something like glass crack underneath him- and before he could so much as stand steady he saw a flash of blue advance and another rain of punches hammered against him. Thrown back against the sloped-surface console, Kirk caught a glimpse of Spock's blazing eyes, blind white heat behind the dark brown, before he felt a hand clamp over his throat like a vice.

Kirk gripped at Spock's wrist, trying to pull the enraged half-Vulcan off him. No one on the bridge dared intervene- paralysed by shock, the senior crew members watched with increasing panic as their acting captain choked the life out of the younger human, even Uhura looking frightened- there was blood in Spock's eyes.

As bubbles of blackened colour began rippling across his vision, Kirk had an odd thought.

_Valravn isn't here. If she was, she would have stopped him._

"_Spock_."

Sarek, who had been watching proceedings silently, finally intervened.

There was a moment- a protracted, terrifying moment- that it seemed Spock was going to kill Kirk in cold blood.

Then, the sound of his father's voice seemed to sink in. As though coming back into himself, the haze lifting and his sight clearing, Spock released Kirk, stepping away, stunned.

Kirk gasped for breath, close to collapsing and barely conscious. Still he sat up determinedly, a pang of pain both physical and otherwise singing through him as he met Spock's almost bewildered eyes.

Kirk was bruised at the throat and bleeding afresh, breathing heavily, unyielding and unbroken as titanium- yet there was something incongruently gentle and infinitely compassionate, deeper than the ocean, within his unrelentingly blue gaze.

_I'm sorry. I know how you feel. This wasn't about spite, or malice, or revenge. I'm sorry._

Straightening, Spock slowly turned to face his father. The expression Sarek wore was as decipherable as when he had arrived days ago on the transport pad of the _Enterprise_, his planet destroyed and his wife and mother of his son lost with it; perhaps to a Vulcan, however, there was some flicker of something- support, a quiet order, possibly both- hidden within it.

Gathering himself into a weak duplicate of his usual equanimity, Spock dropped his father's gaze and unsteadily walked to stand in front of the chief medical officer, line of sight fixed on the floor, voice still trembling and looking almost- _lost_.

"Doctor, I am no longer fit for duty. I hereby relinquish my command on the grounds that I have been emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship's log."

Saying nothing more, Spock crossed the bridge- locking eyes with Uhura before he stepped beyond the sliding doors into the hallway- leaving a tense, uncertain silence in his wake. After a moment, unnoticed, Sarek followed.

"I like this ship!" Scott declared with an irreverent smile, glancing around him. "You know, it's exciting."

McCoy, ignoring the non-sequitur, turned on Kirk, grimly exasperated. "Well, congratulations, Jim. Now we've got no captain and no goddamn first officer to replace him."

Catching his breath, Kirk set his eyes on the empty captain's chair, sharp lines and smooth curves, matte black and glossy white and silver lines, simple but intimidating- and empty.

Kirk steeled himself.

_Okay._

"Yeah we do."

He stood up and, refusing to hesitate, walked towards the chair.

"_What_?!"

"Pike made him first officer," Sulu reminded everyone glibly, jabbing his thumb towards him as Kirk took the seat, hands braced on the armrests sloped inwards, testing and registering the feel of it. It was different from the simulations, and not just because of the streamlined design of the new flagship. Leather pressed at his back, smooth synthetic metal-plastic alloy under his fingers, the other control terminals spanning around him and the view screen pen beyond, looking directly into space- it felt _right_.

"You gotta be _kidding_ me!" McCoy blurted out.

"Thanks for the support," Kirk said impassively, studying the dials either side of him.

He heard someone drawing close at his right, and looked up.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing," Uhura said, challengingly, but resigned to the new state of affairs, "_Captain_."

Kirk nodded slightly. He had expected nothing less of her; doubt and grudging compliance he could work with.

"So do I."

Kirk gave himself a moment, and pressed the communications controls touchscreen at his left, opening up the ship-wide announcement link, speaking confidently and concisely.

"Attention, crew of the _Enterprise_: this is James Kirk. Mr Spock has resigned commission and advanced me to acting captain. I know you were all expecting to regroup with the fleet, but I am ordering a pursuit curse of the enemy ship to Earth- I want all departments and battle stations ready in ten minutes. Either we're going down- or they are." He paused. "Kirk out."

Curtly, Kirk cut the transmission.

His eyes fell to the conspicuously unmanned security station.

"Where's my security chief?"


	13. Chapter XIII: Where We Fall

_**A/N: **__So… WE HIT TWO HUNDRED FOLLOWERS! I couldn't have asked for a better gift to end this year! Thank you all so, so much!_

_Since we have somehow gotten to the thirteenth chapter (my lucky number) in sixteen months with- holy hell- 75,000+ words, 18,500+ views, 55+ reviews, 140+ favourites and 200+ followers- please allow me to gush unashamedly about how wonderful and supportive and patient you all are. I never dreamed that Radioactive would be so popular, or so well-received- or, in fact, that Valravn would be so well-received. Honestly, that has been the biggest and most pleasant surprise with writing this story. There has been nothing more flattering to hear that she is actually loved as a character, or how eager you are to see her with Kirk (soon, I promise!). One incredible review even told me that at least one of my readers doesn't read Kirk/OC stories and can't stand romance normally. Seriously? That's as insane as the fact that all of you span across entire continents. I checked the traffic stats: Radioactive has seen readers from at least _sixty-seven_ countries worldwide- from my homeland in the UK to South America, from Asia to Africa, from Australasia to the Middle East, from North America to Scandinavia, the Caribbean to Iceland. That is insanely amazing. I have loved writing this story for each and every one of you._

_So, in two words: thank you._

_(Relax- I may sound like we're wrapping things up, but we're not even close. In fact, we're barely halfway through everything I want to write. More like a- third.)_

_One last thing: I created a playlist for this story that I use while writing- essentially, a soundtrack for Radioactive as a story. I have given each of the songs a subtitle to match when I listened to each one for which chapter or theme- so if people are interested, I'll post a link on my profile. And if anyone has any suggestions for songs to add to it, feel free to PM me or tell me in a review._

_This is a fairly short chapter- my shortest since Chapter II- since I wanted to save all of the action for a super long one next time (maybe we'll hit 9,000 words on that one). I'll do some clean-ups later, since I'm not entirely satisfied, but I really wanted to post tonight._

_So, as always- enjoy. And we'll see each other in the new year!_

_EDIT: 28/12/2015._

* * *

XIII  
_Where We Fall_

_May 18, 2258 – U.S.S. _Enterprise

She was going to _kill_ him.

"Miss Winter, you've been called-"

"Already on my way, thank you."

Valravn didn't so much as pause to glance at the nurse who had addressed her, striding past him with the force of a hurricane as she yanked at the lapels of her white coat. Popping open the push-clasps fastening the front, ripping it open, she stripped it off and tossed it at the nearest surface that would accommodate it; her operations red dress bled through, and never had it felt better to wear the colour, staining her from neck to knee.

Her steps strummed out an unforgiving rhythm akin to war drums, medical staff swerving around her as she carved out a path to the nearest lift with a direct route up to the bridge deck; stepping into the empty cylindrical chamber and jabbing at the panel unseeingly, Valravn closed her eyes as the lift swooped upwards, hands braced on the rail behind her. She made a valiant attempt regulate her breathing, winding a rogue strand of dark hair back into her braid. Her heart was racing, impatient and anxious, as though admonishing her for not moving at even a fraction of whatever constituted as fast enough.

The curved door of the lift slid aside, and she stormed out into the nearly empty passageway and through the open doorway onto the bridge without bothering to ask for permission- _he_ had called her up there, and she wasn't in the mood to pander to protocol.

Valravn drew up short of ramming into someone- yet his presence still crashed over her with the force of a wrecking ball.

James Kirk was staring down at her with something new and intense and- Valravn didn't quite know what name to put to it. It was almost as though he hadn't seen her in a century, or ever before. That was the only thing that could have accounted for how openly awestruck he looked as he stared at her, his breath stuttering- _breathing_, he was _alive_, and she would have taken that over anything in that current slice of time- his hair mussed, fresh bruises at his throat and jaw, and still somehow looking like the sun incarnate.

For a second, Valravn _hated_ him.

_Weak,_ Valravn snarled at herself. _Stop letting him make you weak, stop wanting things you don't need. You would only hurt him, or he would hurt you, and one way or another you would find a way to destroy him._

_You survived sixteen years without him. So _do it again_._

"_Captain_," Valravn intoned serenely, giving nothing away.

Kirk's breath rushed out of him, tension melting, a relieved smile glittering deep in his eyes.

"Miss Winter." His tone was even, the grin contained only within his eyes for once, and not at his mouth, his form strong and calm and collected. Kirk slipped something from his pocket, rotating it between his fingers, and offered it to her. "Doctor McCoy assures me you're being wasted in the medical bay. And since no one else on this ship knows the art of war like you do, I wondered if you would return to the bridge. I need- _we_," he corrected himself smoothly, "need you here."

Valravn looked down at her knife, resting safely in his hand and its leather sheath, unmarked by whatever trials Kirk had been through to return.

She reached out, and took it from him.

"I suppose I should," Valravn said nonchalantly, edging the blade an inch out of its sheath, examining its gloss as it flashed under the artificial lights, "especially since you asked so nicely, Captain."

The corners of his mouth curled upwards, and she moved past him, her blood singing.

She really, really _hated_ him sometimes.

"I think that this is the part where you tell me that we currently have no plan of attack whatsoever." Valravn said coolly, cutting to the quick, walking the sheathed knife along her fingers and flipping it around again into her palm.

When she received a host of reserved, faintly guilty, hopeful looks from almost every corner of the bridge in return, Valravn drew in a deep breath and loosed it again, spine straightening powerfully as the weight of her rank settled across her shoulders once more.

_Ah, imminent death and destruction. Now _this_ is my playground._

"Excellent," she said, completely without sarcasm. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

He was gazing unseeingly down at the transporter pad- at the illuminated disk, one of six arranged in an array around the central dome, where his mother should have materialised, frightened and dust stained, yet collected and ever gracious and diplomatic- his hands clasped behind his back, when he heard his father's voice.

"Speak your mind, Spock."

Spock twitched his head minutely towards the sound, afraid of even raising his voice to more than a murmur.

"That would be unwise."

"What is necessary," Sarek countered with the same steady, certain wisdom he unswervingly demonstrated in every encounter, "is never unwise."

Spock felt something inside him crack at the oblique permission to speak as a son to his father- something that had likely been fractured already, though he had chosen to ignore it, like anaesthetising an injury.

"I am as conflicted as I once was when I was a child," he admitted, raw yet numb with pain.

"You will always be a child of two worlds." Sarek stated, impassive but gentle. "I am grateful for this." There was a short, pregnant pause. "And for you."

The admission was unexpected. Vulcan children were all vaguely aware that they were precious to their parents, even if only on a simple, primal level that could not be shaken by the philosophy they had followed since Surak had walked Vulcan; it was only logical to be instinctively protective of one's offspring, to ensure that the genetic line was perpetuated.

But to hear it, spoken so directly, without logical rhetoric- that was something very different.

Spock turned slowly to face his father. "I feel anger for the one who took mother's life," he said tremulously. "An anger I cannot control."

Sarek approached him, his mind churning behind the dark lenses of his irises.

"I believe," he intoned carefully, "as she would say- _do not try to_."

Spock could only stare back at him, uncomprehending.

"You asked me once why I loved your mother," Sarek said, meeting and holding Spock's. A genuine pain, jagged and raw, flickered behind his mask, acceptance and warmth and his son standing before him making turning it into something fierce and strong.

"I married her because I _loved_ her."

It was spoken simply- a fact as pure and worthy to be placed under any measure of logical scrutiny- and Spock finally understood.

* * *

"Anything from Captain Pike?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Uhura said as she approached the small cluster of senior officers- Kirk, Sulu, McCoy, Valravn- gathered at the fringes of the foremost terminals, standing before the screen endlessly rippling with undulating light on hollow darkness as they tore through space, in an urgent, tightly-knit strategy session. The relative youth and vibrancy of its members made it sharp and efficient- ideal conditions, Kirk decided, for decisions that needed speed and surety. "I've been monitoring all channels, including the original reception frequency from the _Narada_. There's nothing."

Kirk nodded his acknowledgement, having known that it was beyond optimistic to expect any communication hinting that Pike was still alive, but he had needed to know for certain.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said, turning to his helmsman and asking the unavoidable question. "Can we catch up?"

"Not a chance," Sulu said, regretful but blunt. "I've run every option in the simulations, Captain. We'll never make it. They'll be expecting strikes from remnants of the fleet and local defences. There's no way we can drop out of warp within an affective attack range without them responding, and trying to stop outside their range and moving in for an attack would be worse. As for ground-based aircraft and missiles from Earth and Starbase 1- even if they do notice hostilities in time, it won't even make a dent."

"A direct confrontation is out of the question," Kirk agreed. "Alright. We need to remain unseen, or their weapons will pulverise us before we even get a chance to fire off a single photon."

"Exactly as I have been saying for the past two and a half minutes," Valravn said dully, leaning back against the edge of the station with her arms folded, one ankle crossed in front of the other. "Fine. The solution is obvious. We keep everything covert- infiltrate then sabotage from the inside."

"Steal the device out from under them," Kirk inferred, and Valravn inclined her head in accord.

"Don't you mean _destroy_?" Sulu asked, eyes darting between the captain and the security chief uncertainly.

"_Absolutely not_," Valravn replied sharply. "The only viable way to do that with a substance so volatile would involve disrupting the dual containment fields, releasing the contents."

"And that's just what we need," Kirk added with a thin smile, "a bunch of red matter floating around the solar system."

"We capture it intact," Valravn said firmly. "Mr Sulu, is there any chance at all you can get us in range to beam aboard the _Narada_?"

"Not without being detected by their sensors-"

"_Captain Kirk_!" Chekov jogged down eagerly from where he had been working at one of the tall, free-standing translucent digital screens at the back of the bridge, nearly vibrating as he tapped Kirk on the shoulder. "Captain Kirk, Captain-"

"I- _yes_, what is it, Mr Chekov?"

"Based on the _Narada's_ course from Vulcan, I have projected that Nero will travel past Saturn," he began, eager and precise. "As you said, we need to stay invisible to Nero, or he'll destroy us. If Mr Scott can get us to Warp Factor Four _and_ if we drop out of warp behind one of Saturn's moons- say, Titan- the magnetic distortion from the planet's rings will make us invisible to Nero's sensors. From there, as long as the drill is not activated, we can beam aboard the enemy ship."

"Aye, that might work," Scott voiced his approval lightly, having suddenly materialised behind Kirk's shoulder, redressed in the red of operations and having sourced a towel from somewhere to dry off.

Kirk glanced back at Scott and considered the proposal briefly- and, like the needle of a compass, his gaze swerved smoothly onto the helmsman for confirmation.

"Mr Sulu?"

"It- might just work," Sulu said slowly, a growing spark glinting behind his onyx eyes. "The magnetic distortion- if we tried it with Jupiter, or even Saturn itself, the fields would play havoc with our instrumentation. But _Titan_\- if we come out of warp on the outsystem, we should be masked from detection by Saturn's magnosphere mixing with Titan's weaker one. And Titan's atmosphere should mask any visual that could alert the Romulans, and the ionisation further conceal the _Enterprise's_ energy signature." The shadow of a smile crossed his face, glancing at the chief navigation officer. "I think Mr Chekov found the one place we can hide in the system and still be able to beam an attack team on board."

"Wait a minute, kid," McCoy interrupted brusquely, turning a look of unadulterated scrutiny on the fresh-faced tactical officer who had been glowing modestly at the praise, "how old are you?"

"Seventeen, sir," Chekov replied cheerfully, undaunted.

"_Oh_\- oh, _good_," McCoy directed at Kirk, the lightness of his tone scathing, almost sighing with exasperation, "he's _seventeen_."

"And I'm eighteen, what's your point?" Valravn interposed, cutting McCoy a look so lethal that it could have flash-frozen the core of the sun.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Kirk felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

"Yeah, Bones, what's your point?" He echoed jauntily.

"Doesn't count. _You're_ a prodigy," McCoy shot back at the security chief.

"So is _he_," Valravn retorted, equally as fast. "And I am not the one who understands astrophysics in exquisite detail."

"Look, this isn't-"

"Doctor."

The dispute halted.

Spock was serenely determined, a focused clarity in his eyes and words, standing just over the open threshold of the passageway leading onto the bridge.

"Mr Chekov is correct. I can confirm his telemetry," Spock pronounced, impervious to the shocked stares following as he moved forwards fluidly down to the platform. "If Mr Sulu is able to manoeuvre us into position I can beam aboard Nero's ship, steal the black hole device and, if possible, bring back Captain Pike."

"I won't order you to do that, Mr Spock," Kirk said firmly.

He may have still been bearing the evidence of their recent altercation in fresh blood-red beneath his skin, but nothing in Spock, when he tilted his head and spoke again, this time speaking directly to Kirk, indicated that any hostility had ever existed between them.

"Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry," he said simply. "Our commonality will make it easier for me to access their computers to locate the device." Spock paused reflectively. "Also, my mother was human- which makes Earth the only home I have left."

The other senior officers were silent, making no objections. Kirk was the only one who met his gaze. Spock seemed galvanised, professional and full of renewed purpose, that which had been seething and fermenting underneath like poison now absent.

Kirk knew that it was an insane endeavour that demanded far more than one man alone was capable of giving; even half-Vulcans had to obey the laws of physics, and could not be in two places at once. He suspected that once the device was stolen, which was of course the logical priority and the route that Spock would take, that the alarm would be quickly raised across the ship, creating a narrow window of time in which to deactivate the drill, locate and rescue Pike, all while being pursued by a presumably angry crew of heavily armed Romulans.

Two were needed, then- at least- to pull it off.

_To leap without looking-_

_Well. We were friends, in another life._

Kirk stepped towards Spock, their eyes- blue as the skies and seas of Earth, brown as deep and rich as its soil- at last drawing level with each other.

"Then I'm coming with you," Kirk declared.

Spock considered this for a moment. "I would cite regulation," he replied, his eyes darting over Kirk's shoulder thoughtfully before meeting his gaze again, "but I know that you will simply ignore it."

Kirk supressed a grin, turning it into a wry smile.

"See? We _are_ getting to know each other."

Spock did not disagree. In fact, there seemed to be a replying flicker- perhaps even of acceptance, or something subtle that neither human nor Vulcan tongues had a word for- behind his irises.

Kirk, needing to shake off the odd sudden feeling of _rightness_\- he was captaining a ship full of flash-promoted cadets, including himself, he and Spock were working in harmony despite each coming from completely different intellectual and philosophical directions, and a crazed Romulan from the future was about to destroy the Earth in the name of a vendetta that made approximately the same amount of logical sense as a Salvador Dali work; there was absolutely nothing _right_ about any of this- and otherwise just simply unable to resist, clapped Spock's shoulder as he strode past.

There was work to do, and the seconds were pouring away.

* * *

Kirk was so preoccupied with mentally skimming over the orders he had left the bridge's senior officers that, when he all but sprinted through into the armoury, it took something being thrown at him a point-blank range to tear him out of his own mind.

Somehow he caught the loop of strong synthetic leather just before it struck his face- a phaser was strapped into one hip-holster, a tricorder attached on the opposite side- bemused by the projectile as the door closed behind him, sealing with a hiss.

"You'll need that," someone said.

Kirk would know that voice anywhere.

He looked up to see Valravn striding towards him with frightening swiftness- so _fast_, unhesitating, as though she unconsciously expected the universe to part and bend to her will- halting sharply in front of him with a kick of cool air, and reaching up towards the side of his face. His heartbeat stuttered when he felt her fingers brushing over his ear, pressing a communicator in and switching it on with the flick of her nail.

"This too," she added unceremoniously. Valravn stepped back, and noted in his stunned expression with an arched brow. "What? I hope you were not expecting me to stay behind, _Captain_."

Kirk couldn't speak. Her demeanour was steel- eyes the colour of winter skies, a blue so clear that it seemed to be shaded with an unearthly lavender-violet- her hair braided taut with strands coming loose like wisps of ink against a white canvas, all high cheekbones and sharp angles and subtle curves, pinning back the volatile energy crackling underneath. She seemed so fragile, and made of something stronger than anything the Federation could ever hope to harvest from a mine, and Kirk remembered the night that they had met, when his mind had conjured the comparison of a shapeshifting creature of myth, or a wild animal cursed into the body of a human.

_I love you,_ he thought wildly,_ I love you, by everything that's beautiful and horrible and unfair and perfect in this universe I love you-_

"What is it?"

Jim's heart stopped guiltily. The array of her lashes fanned as Valravn's eyes narrowed as she stared him down.

"I- nothing, i-it's nothing- I just-"

_I don't know if this plan is even going to work and I need you to tell me that it will._

_I met Spock from the future on Delta Vega._

_I'm in love with you._

"I trust you," he blurted out.

Valravn's entire form shifted from unreadable to openly amused.

"Well I knew _that_," she said, a laugh echoing beneath her words. "Is that all?"

"No- that's not- I meant-" Kirk shook his head, searching for the right words to make her understand without letting something slip. Valravn Winter's tongue was pure silver, cast and sharpened to cut-glass quality, as crisp as an icy morning and clever as the mind behind; but James Kirk's was twenty-four carat gold, warm as honey, malleable as hot wax, persuasive and uncompromising- made as much for a love confession as hers was made for threats and diplomacy. He could find the words- he would, eventually- but now was hardly the time.

When he did tell her- if he ever dared to- he wanted to make sure she believed him.

"I mean that I- I trust you, above anyone and anything. I'm talking, _next of kin_, _power of attorney_, _calling up in the middle of the night to help hide the body, no questions asked_ levels of trust." Jim reached out and imprisoned her hand in his. "I need you to know that. I _trust_ you."

Valravn's gaze searched him, and for one terrible moment, Kirk was worried that she had sensed something more amiss.

Instead, she gave a silent sigh, shoulders dropping slightly and the near-omnipresent film of frost on her surface thawing almost indiscernibly, her slim fingers flexing outwards as she laced them more closely with his.

"Everything is going to be fine."

His nervous tension melted away with a soft laugh.

"How did you know I needed to hear that?" He asked breathlessly.

"Because I know you," Valravn replied flatly, and Kirk cocked a smile at the nearly exasperated sentiment. "And as stubbornly optimistic as you are, sometimes you need to hear the words. Besides, why should we not be confident? With you and Spock working together, the odds are stacked in our favour to force another miracle out of the universe."

For a fraction of a heartbeat, Valravn's armour showed a hesitant chink of emotion, a bright shard of a moment.

"I trust you too, you know. _Follow you into the depths of hell if you asked_ levels of trust."

Kirk relaxed, more relieved than he should have been by her admission. He had never been oblivious to the uncomfortable fact that Valravn trusted absolutely no one and nothing, still and watchful, braced for the knife in her back, ready turn to catch it if she could or to tear it out of her flesh and return the favour threefold, blood streaming down the column of her spine all the while.

He suddenly thought he understood, a little, of what Spock Prime had meant in his cryptic warning.

Valravn's expression shifted, gazing past him thoughtfully.

"Am I really your next of kin?"

Kirk grinned, drawing his head back and looking down at her. "Of course. Who else is it gonna be?"

She shrugged elegantly. "Christopher Pike."

The mention of their captain bought reality crashing back like a sucker punch to his stomach.

"Are you- are you worried?" Kirk began, tenuously; Valravn's temperament was fragile at the best of times, albeit crushed under tight control, and combining the ice-storm with fear or stress was always a volatile concoction. "About-"

"No," Valravn replied, her shoulders lifting in the shadow of another blasé shrug, almost apathetic, stating noting more or less than a fact. "This is what I do. I was made for war."

Kirk twisted the strap of the utility belt he was still holding. "That's- not exactly what I meant."

Valravn hitched an eyebrow minutely, unaffected. Kirk couldn't tell if she was shutting down entirely or firing up from within.

"I know what you meant. But they are in the way. They need to- _not_ be in the way," she concluded with misleading delicate stress. "I will take care of that."

The ice had melted from her eyes, leaving the piercing fire of blue stars. For a moment, Kirk almost pitied the Romulans aboard the _Narada_: being at the business end of Valravn Winter's wrath was not an experience you were likely to escape without a thorough education in the true meaning of pain. Starfleet Academy had taken a little of her edge off, and he had softened her, and her friends had loosened and smoothed her mannerisms, but she was under no one's control but her own, savage and vengeful as the feral creature he had imagined she was on the first night they met, but so much more real and dangerous.

Kirk wondered why that didn't worry him more.

"We should go."

Kirk blinked. Valravn had used the same tone she had when she had reminded him that he was late for a lecture, playfully flicking his temple with the nail of her index finger as she passed on her way to the library, laughing when he cursed and began gathering his things.

_You really are in your element._

"Yeah… let's head out to the transporter room."

* * *

The tension on the bridge of the _Enterprise_, without a captain present to absorb it- the practiced, steady leadership of Pike, or the steely stoicism of Spock, or the searing infectious influence of Kirk- was tangible.

Like so much in the past few days, the _Enterprise_ persevered with grim resolve.

"All stop in three-" Sulu announced, hand darting across the helm's touchscreen effortlessly, eyes fixed- like the navigation chief beside him, and the majority of the other officers- on the view screen, "two- one."

As easy as flicking a switch, the galaxy came crashing back into relative motion that the humanoid mind could track and comprehend, blurred stars focusing from streaks into pinpricks veiled behind dense clouds of brick-red dust.

"Give me one quarter impulse bursts," Sulu directed at Chekov at the adjoining station, "for five seconds- I'll do the rest with thrusters. On my mark."

Chekov bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "Aye."

"_Fire_."

It was fortunate for all involved that Hikaru Sulu had been piloting various vessels for almost as long as his age had been in the double digits; although he had never performed any manoeuvre so delicately precise with so large a ship, there was a first time for everything. Sulu's motions were smooth and swift, coaxing at the controls until the _Enterprise_ rose gracefully up and out of the dust, silhouetted against Saturn's rings, drawn into position by fragile drifting degrees, thrusters flashing on the underside of her disk to nudge her into place. It was like balancing scales with single grains of sand.

As the numbers somehow ticked over within the parameters he had set, Sulu allowed his eyelids to drop in relief, before pressing his private communications channel.

"Transporter room. We are in position above Titan."

"_Really_?" Scott replied from the other side of the connection, audibly but pleasantly surprised, seated at the manual transport station. A band of chrome set with a small screen was clasped around his wrist beneath his cuff, another device curving comfortably behind the shell of his left ear, extending a tiny digital eyepiece on a delicate frame. "Fine job, Mr Sulu, well done."

Right on cue, four figures strode through the wide door into the transporter room.

"How are we, Scotty?" Kirk inquired briskly, Spock preceding him, Valravn close at his right shoulder, Uhura at their heels. Neither the communications chief nor science officer had questioned the unexpected third party, or Kirk on her unexplained presence.

"Unbelievably, sir, the ship _is_ in position." Scott proclaimed.

Kirk paused at the shielding screen, hijacking Scott's communications, reopening the channel to the bridge.

"Whatever happens, Mr Sulu," Kirk began firmly, not allowing himself the luxury of fear or thinking twice- he had argued with himself over the decision in the precious few minutes he had left to spare, only allowing himself to make it when he had realised that he knew both the commander and lieutenant would agree unhesitatingly, "if you think you have the tactical advantage, you fire on that ship, even if we're still on board. That's an order."

Sulu's reply was neutral. "_Yes, sir_."

"Otherwise we'll contact the _Enterprise_ when we're ready to be beamed back."

There was a brief pause. "_Good luck._"

Kirk made no response- he couldn't think of one that would be appropriate. Instead, he turned and followed Valravn and Spock onto one of the empty lit disks on the transporter pad.

It took a moment for him to realise that, a few feet away from him, Spock and Uhura were having what could only be described as a _moment_.

Jim stared at the display of open, unabashed affection- alternating between varying gradations of numb shock, bewilderment and disbelief- before turning to glare at Valravn for confirmation. He wasn't entirely certain that proof of successful of accidental time travel creating an alternate timeline hadn't permanently broken his perception of reality.

If anything, Valravn's reaction only made things more confusing. Feeling his eyes boring into her, she glanced Kirk's way and looked beyond his shoulder at the indicative twitch of his golden head. Her only reaction to the sight of the science officer and communications chief- the two having broken the kiss, shifting to tenderly lean their foreheads together- was an unimpressed quirk of her brow and slight, bored roll of her eyes as she turned away, all but ignoring the inexplicable phenomenon.

Kirk was indignant. He knew that she took everything in her stride when she descended into her current state, but she was taking this development entirely too well.

"I'll be monitoring your frequency," Kirk heard Uhura whisper earnestly.

"Thank you, Nyota," Spock murmured.

Kirk's eyebrows contracted. _Nyota?_

Uhura arched up to press one last lingering kiss against Spock's mouth, before dropping away, her gaze catching Kirk's as she swivelled to leave. He responded with an uncomfortable nod, watching her retreat behind the translucent screens; even Scott's expression, as she passed his shoulder, read of utter confusion, eyes darting uncertainly.

_So it's not just me, then,_ Kirk thought sarcastically._ Great. So I'm not insane just yet._

After a brief, awkward silence, Kirk said the first thing that came to his mind.

"So her first name is _Nyota_-?"

"I have no comment on the matter," Spock cut him off curtly.

Kirk respectfully dropped the line of questioning- _okay, then_\- but he couldn't help but look over at Valravn, his tone affronted and verging on accusatory.

"Hey, did _you_ know about that?"

"Depends if asking whether I knew about their relationship or her first name," Valravn replied with a completely unreasonable level of indifference, before giving a thoughtful hum and the back of her throat. "Actually- no, it doesn't. The answer is _yes_ to both."

From the way that Spock swivelled his head in her direction, almost alarmed, Kirk assumed that this was news to him.

Valravn caught Spock's expression, her own flattening with annoyance, almost insulted. "Even if she hadn't told me and sworn me to secrecy, I would have found out within the week; ten days, if you want to be generous. On that note, Commander," her voice iced over, a gleam in her eye that promised pain. "Allow me to make myself clear. I could care less what your rank is, or how much of an advantage your physiology would give you- if you ever hurt my friend, I will study Vulcan anatomy for the sole purpose of personally hunting you down and locating and scooping out your liver with a penknife and a spoon."

Spock canted his head slightly to the side, solemnly. "Duly noted," he said mildly, as though he had expected nothing less. Valravn inclined her head in cold approval, still dangerously expressionless.

Kirk shifted as the two of them faced forwards once more, both apparently considering the matter settled.

Preoccupied, thrumming with anticipation like wires humming with electricity, Kirk found himself glancing back at Valravn and murmuring on an insane impulse, "You know, maybe we should kiss, too. For luck."

The corner of her mouth curved upwards.

"You don't _need_ luck, Captain," she answered shortly, not looking at him. "You are made of it."

Kirk smiled, turning back around. It wasn't quite what he was hoping for- he wasn't sure what he had been hoping for; if he had, it would have been blindly foolish, and he had expected nothing less from his sharp-tongued sweetheart- but he would take it and run, gladly.

Shockwaves ran through him when he suddenly felt something warm and supple against his right cheek, two fingertips pressing to his jaw on the opposite side, keeping him in place and sending showers of sparks streaming through him, before parting with a firm, audible sound- the sweet, unmistakable suction of a kiss.

By the time Kirk twisted to gape at her with lightheaded, disbelieving delight, Valravn had already stepped back into place as though she had never moved, a small, oddly pleased smile making her more radiant than starlight itself.

"_Motivation_," she said archly.

Kirk tried to contain his grin.

"Okey-dokey, then," Scott announced breezily from behind the terminal, entering in the last of the streams of numbers in easily, "if there's any common sense in the design of the enemy ship, I should be putting you somewhere in the cargo bay. Shouldn't be a soul in sight."

Kirk nodded his assent. It had to be a swift and clean an extraction as possible- Valravn's presence was strictly to serve as support only.

"_Energise_," he commanded.

The familiar threads of energy sealed in around him like a chrysalis, and they disappeared.


	14. Chapter XIV: And Where We Rise

_**A/N: **Warning: a long author's not to match the long chapter (the longest yet, in fact). I **bolded the most important parts** if you want to skim through._

_So. I officially hate this site's Image Manager. It._ Sucks._ I was trying to add text to an image to create a new cover for_ Radioactive,_ but it wouldn't apply the font I wanted and now I'm all frustrated and snippy- I think it shows in this chapter. I'm living vicariously through these characters, punching people and blowing up stuff…_

_Anyway, if anyone feels like whipping up a cover image for me- I am so done with every programme I tried- I welcome it._

_It's been a while, and there are a few things I want to address. First order of business: **I was recently asked in a guest review if I plan to continue this story into** _**Star Trek Beyond**_. My answer is long and complicated, but can be summarised by a shrug and a _**probably not**_\- I'm sorry if this disappoints anyone._

_Here is my reasoning: the core of this story is the relationship between Kirk and Valravn. That's the central thread of the plot, albeit that it's tied up intimately with other elements, like Valravn's character arc (which I've been dropping hints about from the beginning, if you've been paying attention), Kirk's character development, political issues involving Starfleet, war and morality, and a few ethical debates (created in honour of the more philosophical themes of the original series). (Apologies in advance for rambling: note that I said _relationship_, not strictly _romance_. They are friends first and foremost, which is important, remaining so for years; then they have to learn a new dynamic for professional interactions and forge a new facet to their relationship, drawing out new lines and boundaries; romance is the last element, even if it has been present from the start.) Of course, the progression and evolution of their relationship is built around and influenced by canon events- adversely or positively. Bearing in mind that I watched both the first and second film one right after the other, this story and its arcs were written to coincide with and wrap up very neatly in line with the film's canon events (extending slightly beyond and filling in some blanks, granted). To add another film would make said threads very tangled at this point. I also have about fifty chapters planned already- possibly more if I chose to split some chapters into two- so that would only put more pressure on me, considering that I'll be going to university next year (Politics and International Relations, before you ask). It's an interesting concept, to go into the third film, but it's not practical. Again, I am sorry if this comes as a disappointment. Of course, if anyone does watch _Star Trek Beyond_ and thinks of how this fic would slot into it, or vice versa, please feel free to speculate and tell me all about it._

_I did some **edits and revamping of previous chapters** in honour of us coming close to the end of canon events of the first film, so check that out if you feel like re-reading. I'm forever tweaking, finding things either too plain or too wordy, or the pacing is off- if not for the fact that the reformatting and uploading edits is so tedious, I'd probably never stop._

_**I was also thinking of keeping my profile updated with the next chapter's current word count as I'm working on it**. Would that be something that people would be interested in? It would keep everyone following this fic of my current progress, so, that way, you can expect how soon an update would be. Go ahead and leave your answers in a review, or PM me. **If the idea proves popular, I'll update my profile after every writing session**, along with how much of a percentage complete I think it is._

_I am also insane, and, due to the fact that **I first saw Chris Pine in the sequel to **_**The Princess Diaries**_** film as the love interest**, and recently re-watched it to relive the feels and chemistry, **I now have the sudden weird urge to write a short AU of this story based on the plotline**, with Valravn as the titular princess. Someone please stop me now, or I_ will_ do this- it would be a short thing, but right now it seems like best idea in the world and it probably isn't._

_As always, **thank you for your support**! I have so many emails for this fic (500+) stored in the file I keep them in on my account, notifying me of your follows, reviews and favourites, that it actually slows my computer down when I access them. And Chapter XIII received the most reviews yet! You should all know that it is solely your support that bought this story so far. So be proud of that, readers old and new!_

_Off we go, then- strap in for a long one. We're finally finishing off 99% of the canon events from the first movie, with only about ten minutes left of the movie's run-time to cover (that includes credits) and weave into original events. (Which means I finally get to stop re-watching the first movie over and over to get the details right, and start watching the sequel over and over.)_

_(Also, writing this chapter has led me to realise that I personally really do not like handguns. It's odd because I'm fascinated by most weapons- knives, swords, axes, flails, bows, missiles, bombs, even sniper rifles I'm generally fine with, or at least in writing about them. But handguns? Yeah, no, really not into them. Don't like them. At all. Maybe it's just from being British (in case you couldn't tell by the way I spell the word_ colour)_ and growing up with the strict handgun control laws in this country. No idea. But yeah, I didn't enjoy writing about the firefight. I think it shows- sorry about that.)_

_(I'm not sure about the ending either- I feel like it drags. Edits will probably happen.)_

_Anyway, I've kept you long enough. Let's go._

* * *

XIV  
_And Where We Rise_

_May 18, 2258 – the _Narada

In retrospect, expecting the _Narada_ to have been designed with anything resembling common sense had been excessively optimistic.

If he had been given the time to think it over, Kirk might have remembered the recorded history of the _Narada_, and theorised that necessity had been a contributing factor- that the extensive damage caused by the U.S.S. _Kelvin_ ramming it, steered at the hands of his father, had forced the crew to move various operations chambers deeper into the vessel for safety. But at that precise moment, Kirk only had enough time to register what the vague gist of the inside of the ship looked like- as foreboding and unpolished and crudely serviceable as its exterior, crowded by a jungle of metal and hanging wires as thick as limbs, worlds away from the sleek brightness of the scientific vessel that was the _Enterprise_; platforms were layered like scales into winding staircases, ceilings sloped high to odd points like the craggy innards of a shell- before he realised that they were surrounded by and in plain sight of least half a dozen very surprised Romulans, stationed at screens that were covered with alien script in acrid green and turquoise light and jagged white lines.

Valravn's reflexes were frightening. Jim thought he heard her sigh out something that sounded like _inconvenient_\- dull with exasperation, like worn metal, and accompanied by an unimpressed twitch of her brow- and then her sleek chrome phaser snapped out of its holster and she had picked off two of the _Narada's_ crew at point-blank range and shot another's rifle out of his reach with three neat, expert twitches of her finger on the trigger- no more and no less effort than was needed- a heartbeat before the air filled with warning shouts.

Hell promptly broke loose.

Kirk and Spock leapt off the dais where they had materialised and sprinted for cover, ducking under deadly streaks of green light as they wound through and between stations, bolts of solidified energy slamming and rattling off pipes and disused consoles with a scattering of sparks, leaving a twist of scorched, smoking metal behind. The element of surprise was at least on their side this time, leaving the _Narada's_ crew scrambling for their guns, panicked and disorganised, and Kirk pounced on the advantage. Firing at the chest of any Romulan who came into view, he quickly lost track of the shadow of Valravn- Spock kept no less than a few paces away, covering each other's blind spot as they ran, aiming through the chaos- and he took point, darting into the valleys created by the raised platforms, Spock close at his heels, and sliding behind a bulky piece of equipment.

As one, he and Spock burst head and shoulders over the top and began shooting. The thud of bodies under their assault was grimly, satisfyingly relentless, and returned fire went wide- the _Narada_ crew was untrained, Kirk realised, armed with superior weapons, yet all but amateurs in their practical use aside from the general concept of _point, pull trigger, bang, repeat_.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw a crew member scrambling for a station- just beyond his range of a clear shot. The Romulan slammed a hand onto the controls, crouching behind it.

"_Captain, we have Starfleet officers aboard the ship- one of them is Vulcan-_"

He was cut off with a pained snarl as a combat knife plunged into his back, thrown in a whistling whirl of silver and the matte black.

Heralded by a few grunts and short shouts that ricocheted off the ceilings of the cargo hold, Valravn appeared from the gloom, blazing like the ice under the aurora borealis. She swiftly approached the crew member that had her knife lodged in his spine, like a predator who had tasted blood in the air, offhandedly putting a crimson blast of energy in the torso of another who turned his rifle on her as she passed without so much as slowing or glancing in his direction.

Kirk shot down another crew member, and looked back to see a hand groping for a dropped bayonet from behind the station, guttural threats and oaths issuing from the downed Romulan in his native tongue.

Valravn drew to a halt, lifting her leg high, the hem of her skirt hitching up over her thigh- and stamped down on the back of the hand viciously.

The delicate bones splintered beneath the heel of her boot. Kirk was sure that it must have elicited a scream, but it was swallowed by another spray of shots hammering overhead, and he turned his attention back to those still standing.

Finally, the chamber fell still. With the floor almost clear from what he could tell, Kirk cautiously emerged, the glowing circlet at the muzzle of his phaser flipping from the red _kill_ setting to blue _stun, _charging with a quiet whine, and put a bullet of energy right between the shoulders of the last visible crew member. The Romulan collapsed, nervous system overridden, the odd elastic resonance of the stun shot echoing out.

Hearing Spock's quick light steps drawing him close at his shoulder, Kirk didn't look back as he spoke, his gaze still scanning the area.

"Go, I'll cover you."

"Are you certain?" Spock returned softly.

"Yeah, I've got your back."

Spock soundlessly hurried ahead, keeping low, his phaser out and at the ready. At the press of a switch, Kirk's weapon snapped back around to its _kill_ setting, the double-sided muzzle swivelling a horizontal hundred and eighty degrees.

The half-Vulcan slinked towards the unconscious crew-member and crouched, tugging the tattooed face towards him and positioning his fingers, slightly inexpertly, at the nerve-endings required for connection.

Closing his eyes, focusing in and sifting through the memories trapped within an net of neural pathways, Spock didn't see the Romulan advancing from behind, raising his pistol at the back of his dark head.

Kirk did. The force of the shot took the Romulan off his feet, the weapon falling out of his hand with a clatter, an energy burn scorched in his chest- Spock didn't even flinch, eyelids fluttering with the imagines flitting past his vision.

Keeping his phaser trained on the surrounding area, alert with the icy adrenaline pouring through him, amplifying everything to an exquisite sharpness, Kirk performed a visual sweep as he knelt by Spock's side, guarding his back. "Do you know where it is?" He asked, tossing a quick look at Spock over his shoulder. "The black hole device?"

Spock's eyes opened, rising to his feet. "And Captain Pike."

Kirk followed, jogging behind him up the stairs leading up to the catwalks and out of the repurposed cargo bay, phaser drawn and pointed at the ground, finger resting at the trigger guard. Valravn re-joined them as they stepped out into the passageways, already scanning for more crew members approaching in search of the source of disturbance- it should take those stationed at the helm time to catch up given the sheer scale of the ship, fortunately for them- sheathing her knife, a thin spatter of blood, not a single drop of it appearing to be red, slashing across her uniform and skin. Her gaze skimmed over both him and Spock, analytically, before following, silent as a shadow.

The labyrinth of hallways were lit from underneath with sickly yellow, high-ceilinged and twice as wide as those of the _Enterprise_. For the first time, Kirk considered the high probability that the _Narada_, in its original timeline, had neither been a research vessel, nor designed for military application or commercial service- but for cargo shipping and, possibly, mining. It would explain the plasma drill that could bore through to the centre of a Class M planet- and the oversized cargo holds.

"So what's closer?" Kirk directed at Spock.

"The device. It appears to be housed in a small vessel in the hangar below us."

_The _Jellyfish. _That could be useful._ "Let's get that first, then."

They turned a corner. "That was not entirely ethical," Spock felt the need to remark, referring to the mind-meld.

"Yeah, well, I thought that Vulcans are also supposed to be pacifists as a principle," Kirk retorted in a low tone, the observation coming out pithier than he had intended. He was about to apologise, but Spock seemed to have taken his words at face value.

"I am trained in the art of Suus Manha, a discipline used only for self-defence. He was no longer a threat-"

Kirk resisted the urge to halt and glare at his fellow officer in exasperation. "He helped destroy your homeworld and is preparing to destroy mine! Excuse me if I mistakenly interpret him as a _threat_!"

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Your point is valid. We must reach our targets quickly and with as little confrontation as possible, both of which require knowledge of this vessel that none but the _Narada's_ crew members have- to acquire that knowledge is an essential first step in any strategy that has a high probability of success."

Kirk huffed, a thought sparking. "You play three-dimensional chess, by any chance?"

"I am in fact an avid player. Why do you ask?"

"We get out of this alive, we should play a game sometime."

"That would not be disagreeable," Spock intoned carefully, which Kirk translated as roughly the equivalent of _you're on_.

"Just so you know," Kirk said with a smirk, "I'm gonna school you."

"That remains to be seen," he responded mildly, with the slightest implication of a challenge.

"When you two are finished bonding, Captain, Commander," Valravn interjected, drifting ahead of them with quick strides, sounding slightly amused underneath the cool derision, "we ought to pick up the pace-"

Two crew members swerved from where they had been hidden around the mouth of a branching passageway, unarmed, aiming for Valravn- the closest and visibly weakest of the intruders.

Kirk jumped back reflexively as she caught one fist and threw it back into her attacker's face, lashing out to the side and kicking the other in the stomach, sending him reeling back against the wall with a slam. Spock and Kirk both backed up- Valravn moved like a whip, turning her attention back to the first assailant, who was recovering from being punched in the eye with his own knuckles. She twisted to the side, dodging a swing, before grabbing his arm and flipping him, letting his land awkwardly on the back of his neck with a shuddering bang. Valravn swung her leg around to kick him in the skull, knocking him out, the momentum bringing her around just in time to see the other stumble to his feet with rage glittering in his eyes. Valravn blocked, punching the Romulan's exposed ribs before twisting his arm so hard behind his back that the joint popped from the socket and grabbing the back of his neck, throwing him hard against the wall with a sickening clang and a feral shout of exertion. He dropped like dead weight at her feet, groaning, too hurt to move.

It was over in just about eight seconds.

Valravn massaged her wrist with a hiss. "Perhaps you had better take the next few, Commander," she mentioned reluctantly. "Dropping bodies with thrice the strength of mine and a few feet of extra height is beginning to take its toll."

Kirk imagined that it was very possible that Spock was pleased with this arrangement.

"Let's move," Kirk commanded, stepping around the bodies on the floor.

* * *

_May 18, 2258 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

Starfleet Academy campus had been built in pride of place in the city. Its main hall- a sprawling stone and glass four-storey building used by the majority of, if not all, cadets and instructors- and its most popular grassy, tree-shaded plaza were both situated only literal steps away from the water- its surface opaque, glittering sapphire-teal blue when the skies were clear and the sun struck off the surface, close enough for those taking advantage of clear weather and free periods in the summer to dip appendages in as they sat on the steps. Both were in full view of the elegant sleek skyscrapers soaring up on both sides of the bay, thick bursts of greenery lining the banks, and the Golden Gate suspension bridge that spanned the strait, its steel cords as fine as spider silk from a distance and just as strong, distinctive iron-red against the bright ivory of modern constructs.

It was because of this that every soul present on campus that day saw the column of superheated plasma striking down from the heavens, blinding as the midday sun, into the water- a sight that was all but extracted from biblical texts- the clouds pushed out into a wide halo around it, boiling the sea into a storm of salt-spray and mist, penetrating through where the computers aboard the _Narada_ had calculated that the crust was at its weakest. Streams of cadets- third, second and first years- flooded out into the quad in panic, their red masses specked with the black of their instructors, rushing to the edge of the water.

The _Narada _had deployed the drill. And aboard the _Enterprise_, Nyota Uhura charged onto the bridge and declared communications and transport inoperable; their team aboard the enemy ship was alone.

* * *

_May 18, 2258 – the _Narada

Kirk recognised the _Jellyfish_ the moment they jogged into the colossal hold that appeared to pass as a hangar- a deep gulf gaped ahead, distant lights glittering like coloured stars beyond from where they were studded in storeys of wide flat service platforms, overlapping like mushrooms grown into the trunks of trees. The small silvery ship rested exactly where Kirk had seen Spock Prime set it down upon his capture, blue lights aglow within the strange but oddly elegant structure, incomparable to any contemporary vessels of the same size, the gangway left open and trailed with lamps. To its right was the simple _Enterprise_ craft that Pike had taken- the same that had dropped Kirk, Sulu, Valravn and their lost Chief Engineer to Vulcan minutes before it was destroyed.

Spock moved towards it decisively, breaking into a run, no doubt recognising it from the Romulan's transferred memories, and Kirk pulled ahead, glancing behind for anyone following them. The sheer scale of the _Narada_ appeared to be on their side- security was skeletal, and those who had been alerted of the intruders had to contend with distance.

Valravn halted at the mouth of the gangway, concealing herself behind one of the landing stabilisers, pressing back against it. "I'll keep watch," she said, motioning for them to continue without her with her drawn phaser, "just in case. Be quick."

Kirk nodded, and he and Spock hurried inside, doors automatically pulling aside for them with a soft whirr. Detail was suddenly added to the flashes he had seen of the ship's interior from within Spock Prime's mind; the doors were thick but translucent, retracting obediently into the walls as they approached, everything curved and in shades of a dove-grey that seemed brushed with dusty blue. The walls were embedded with control panels at convenient intervals, and set with large light fixtures that were almost akin to backlit stained-glass rose windows, uniformly white and leaded with pleasing geometric patterns, nearly as wide across as Kirk was tall.

"I foresee a complication," Spock said as he walked ahead, scanning their surroundings with brisk curiosity as they entered the room containing a tall chamber of clear metal, housing an intimidating bubble of red matter- looking primed to pop and explode at the touch of a pin. "The design of this ship is far more advanced than I had anticipated-"

"_Voiceprint and face recognition analysis enabled_," a vaguely feminine automated voice announced. "_Welcome back, Ambassador Spock_."

Kirk stiffened. _Shit_.

"Wow, that's weird." He said awkwardly, quickly turning away to seek out the pilot's seat.

Behind him, after a tense second, he heard Spock address the ship's system from behind him.

"Computer- what is your manufacturing origin?"

"_Stardate 2387. Commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy_."

Kirk stood at the left of the triangular-backed pilot's chair, studiously checking whether the weapons systems of the _Jellyfish _were still operative. Spock's approach was audibly upset.

"It appears you have been keeping important information from me."

Kirk opted to ignore this as he turned to face the commander; they had far more important things to deal with, and he could think up a semi-convincing half-lie that wouldn't make him feel too guilty later.

"You'll be able to fly this thing, right?"

"Something tells me that I already have," Spock replied stonily, but with something like grudging trust- or perhaps just acceptance that now was not the time.

"Good luck," Kirk said with sincerity, and turned to walk away.

"_Jim_."

He stopped sharply, turning to look back at Spock, who had barely moved.

It was the first time that this incarnation of Spock had called him by his first name.

"The statistical likelihood that our plan will succeed is less than 4.3 per cent."

"It'll work," Kirk said firmly.

"In the event that I do not return," Spock persisted resolutely, stepping towards him, "please tell Lieutenant Uhura that I-"

"_Spock._" Jim cut him off, adamant but almost gentle at the edges, wordlessly willing Spock to take that illogical leap of faith. Four-point-three per cent of a chance was still enough of a chance for Kirk to argue taking that incautious leap; to look down now would be a crucial second of hesitation too long. "It'll work."

He lingered just long enough to see something release behind Spock's expression- something that he thought might have been human, or perhaps just a buried-deep feature of all intelligent life, created by instinct, honed and preserved by evolution, but made existentially beautiful by intellect- and left.

Kirk ran down the illuminated ramp, and was met by Valravn on the other side.

"Can he pilot it?" She asked as they both pulled back, glancing up at the circular translucent screen behind which Spock was seated, acclimatising himself with the controls.

"He'll be fine," Kirk assured her confidently.

Moments later, without even so much as a faint kick of displaced air, the _Jellyfish_ glowed to life and rose, smooth and slow, its landing gear retracting into its body as it floated up. The engines fired up, the odd gyroscopic mechanism of its turbine began to turn in its socket, spinning around something that cast a comet-trail of powerful, pure white light, studded within with rows of ocean-blue lights. Valravn and Kirk watched just long enough to see the craft turning fluidly, pushing and sweeping off into the hold, before heading back the way they came with fresh haste.

The _Narada_'s design was more complicated than any vessel or station that Kirk or Valravn had ever been presented with, even in the most difficult simulations, where parts of the structure would be caved and inaccessible or turned to a minefield by damage. Service passages like drained sewage pipes and roughly paths through debris and disused machinery were seemingly constructed and cleared around the _Narada's _cargo holds and its warp core chamber with no regard whatsoever for logic or efficiency; Spock had relayed the directions he had gleaned from the Romulan's mind to them both thrice over before they had made sense of them, with even Spock admitting that the most direct route was regrettably overly complicated.

They were at the mouth of another tunnel, steeped in inch-deep standing water, when Valravn suddenly stopped. Her dark head swung around to look behind them, triggered by some keen sense, her braid slipping over her shoulder.

"What?" Kirk called back in a whisper.

"A few approaching. Can feel the vibrations," she murmured, the response whittled down to curt combat shorthand. "I can take care of them- go on without me, I'll catch up."

Kirk wavered.

"Be safe."

Valravn's reply was devoid of the same tenderness, but conveyed an identical sentiment.

"Do _not_ die while I am gone."

Kirk tried his utmost not to watch her disappear, her careful footfalls barely sounding in the quiet, bloodstained dark hair and ruby-red fabric descending down a rusted ladder into a hatch. Turning around, he walked into the tunnel.

His footsteps sloshed through the silence, his breaths quick, side still throbbing from earlier injuries that had to wait, ambient light gleaming off the rough, damp walls. Kirk emerged on the other side, slipping through a tangle of wires and water-stained pillars into open ground- and froze.

Nero was standing on a platform directly opposite him, shrouded in a long ragged coat of dark oil-stained leather, glaring at him with from beneath the shadow of his brow and the flickering floodlights with silent, insane malice.

Kirk recognised the raw fire that flared up in his chest, spreading out, tongues of flame in his throat and billowing through his lungs.

He wanted Nero _dead_. His phaser was already on its _kill_ setting. He was a good shot, and an energy bullet moved faster than Nero could, even at the distance at which they stood.

He wondered, for a split second, if it was the same fire that his father had felt- fierce, protective, full of vengeance, an inferno that might smelt the sun- in the moment that he had died, the U.S.S. _Kelvin_ exploding around him, the impact damaging the vessel in whose bowels Jim now stood so badly that it could do absolutely nothing to harm the fleeing escape vessels- one of which had contained him.

"Nero," Kirk called out evenly, the word steeped with the searing venom and fire he felt inside, phaser trained on hi unmoving silhouette, "order your men to disable the drill or I will-"

Something struck him hard across the face, and Kirk slammed to the ground, the phaser sliding out of his hand and toppling over the edge of the platform. From behind his blotted vision, Kirk could see Nero's second in command- _Ayel_, he knew from the testimonies of surviving _Kelvin_ bridge officers- standing over him, rifle in hand.

Lying on his back, hissing and hearing Nero's quick, heavy footsteps slamming towards him, Kirk wished he had forgone the warning and the ethical choice and just _shot_ the son of a bitch.

"I know your face," Nero rasped, voice coarse with disuse, a scowl twisting his face in fresh displeasure, "from Earth's history."

Kirk had no time, nor the focus between dazed gasping breaths, to be surprised or intrigued by this before he was hauled up by his shirt unceremoniously, only to be tossed back a few feet with a powerful shove, pain ringing through him as already bruised flesh hit scarred unyielding metal. He was pulled to his feet by a cast-iron grip at his collar before his head had even stopped spinning, catching a glimpse of leather and foreign wool as a fist sank into his stomach, another colliding across his jaw, dropping him again with another blow to the back.

Kirk fell to his knees, groaning.

_Definitely should have shot him._

He was dragged up again, landing a punch that sent Nero's head snapping to the side before it was returned, soundly, across his temple. Kirk was suddenly, bizarrely reminded of that bar fight in Storm Lake, Iowa- sans the smell of alcohol and anything resembling a fair chance.

Rough calloused hands closed around Kirk's neck, like a vice- gripping at the wrists and yanking back, fingers slipping, grasping for friction, Kirk managed to relieve the pressure just enough to stop them from outright crushing his larynx- as Nero bore down on him, his stare blank with single-minded hatred.

"James T. Kirk was considered to be a great man," he continued, almost conversational, if not for the words emerging in a low, seething, guttural rumble. "He went on to captain the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. But that was another life. A life I will deprive you of _just like I did your father_-"

_Dead,_ Kirk's mind snarled defiantly, even as his lungs convulsed from lack of oxygen, smoke-black ripples beginning to fringe his scope of vision, _you are so fucking _dead_, Nero-_

* * *

The weapons were controlled by a panel of double-sided interactive glass at his right, shaped to suit the palm of his hand; the press of the column of his thumb and a strumming tap of his fingers sent a barrage of shots- ice white light streaking from small but undeniably potent missiles- towards the external iris door he had identified. Spock pressed the ship's engines ever harder as the _Jellyfish_ powered towards the still-intact opening, picking up speed, secondary explosions ricocheting off the walls even as he continued firing from the guns mounted on either side of the screen, setting off flashes of fire, their sound muffled within the small vessel.

The door blasted apart and released into open space just in time for the _Jellyfish _to tear through it, swerving away from the ceiling of the Narada and towards the cloud-smudged curve of Earth- deceptively serene, deep blue oceans mottled and tinted with watercolour green, swirling at the hems of continents of crackled brown and jade and olive- following the chain down through the mesosphere. The drill drew into view rapidly, the jet of plasma plunging down into the glittering sea.

Spock began firing at the tether.

A scatter of well-placed missiles hammered the gnarled chain with an explosion of clean white smoke and spray of sparks like a firework, and then the cords _snapped_ in a shattering of metal- the _Jellyfish_ whipping through the sparkling debris and cloud of smoke as it passed.

The dislocated drill tumbled to Earth, dragged down by gravity and narrowly missing the Golden Gate Bridge as it plummeted into the strait, the tail of its broken cord cracking like that of a defeated beast as it hit the surface of the sea, casting up a great wave and a crash of seafoam as it sunk.

Spock turned the vessel back up through the atmosphere, towards the looming shadow of the _Narada_.

* * *

"_Captain Nero- the Vulcan ship has been taken- the drill has been destroyed-_"

The voice over the announcement systems had Nero immediately releasing Kirk and jolting up onto his knees, utterly livid.

"_Spock_!" He roared, rising to his feet, unsteady and savage with rage. "_Spock_-!"

_He did it,_ Kirk realised between deep breaths, staring up at the ceiling, _he destroyed the drill-_

Nero, officially beyond all reason, turned and leapt off the shelf of the platform, landing somewhere below and sprinting back to the control room. Kirk sat up as his footsteps faded, rolling over onto his hands and knees, gripping an outcrop of angular metal for support, breathing heavily, tense and shaking.

He looked up.

Ayel, rifle still in hand, began walking towards him languorously.

* * *

Spock looked down as an oval screen on the _Jellyfish's_ controls- a video communication display- came to life.

"_Spock,_" Nero spat out, his image through the channel distorted as though reflected in warped glass- which, Spock reflected, was not entirely unfitting, considering that the Romulan captain's mental state was evidently far beyond unhinged, "_I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance-!_"

"I hereby confiscate this illegally obtained ship and order you to surrender your vessel. No terms," Spock announced icily, allowing himself to take an iota of vindictive pleasure in delivering what a human would call an implicit _fuck you_.

Spock had the strange feeling that his mother- a practiced diplomat who was dedicated to peace and acceptance, true, but also the fiercely protective woman who had once argued with his father that he should not be expected to endure the constant provocation of his peers in passive silence- would have been rather proud of him.

The display cut out, and the ship registered a number of missiles deploying from the _Narada_, locked on his vessel; Nero was apparently willing to ignite the red matter in order to see him dead.

_Fascinating. _Jim Kirk had evidently been correct- against overwhelming odds, the plan had indeed worked thus far.

Perhaps Spock was willing to suspend his uncertainty concerning this plan a while longer.

Turning the vessel about, neatly swivelling to avoid the deadly green streaks careening towards him, Spock engaged the _Jellyfish's_ warp drive, knowing that the _Narada_ and its desperate captain would follow without hesitation.

* * *

Unarmed, Kirk darted to his feet as Ayel strolled closer, an expression crossing his features that promised a sadistically excruciating death. Within the space of a split second, Kirk reviewed his options, and did the only remotely sensible thing that came to mind.

Turning, Kirk sprinted off the edge of the platform.

Time seemed to slow briefly, stale air rushing past as he was dragged down by artificial gravity- and slammed against the ledge on his stomach, just short of landing safely. Slipping further as the air was punched from his lungs, clinging for purchase on the tarnished surface, Kirk kicked out in search of a foothold to prevent him from falling, the strained muscles in his arms and shoulder screaming, metal squeaking underneath sweat-slicked skin.

A set of worn leather-wrapped boots landed in front of him.

_Fuck fuck _fu-

Ayel leaned down and, almost casually, wrapped a set of broad tattooed fingers around Kirk's throat, lifting him by his neck, suspending him just over the chasm gaping below.

"Your species is even weaker than I expected," he remarked with a vaguely amused sneer, observing Kirk's struggle contemptuously. Ink like thorned vines were etched across his forehead, between his brows and down his nose, another bluish chain arcing around the back of his shaved skull and over the front of his ears, carving the hate into his face.

Gripping Ayel's wrist with one hand, eyes closed against the new pain blooming in his skull, Kirk choked out a broken sound. The Romulan's amusement deepened, his thumb pressing into Kirk's carotid artery.

"You can't even _speak_."

Kirk attempted to speak again, grimacing, the words hissing through his clenched jaw.

"_What_?" Ayel's mouth widened into a predatory grin as he mockingly loosened his grip, just slightly, enough for Kirk to talk.

Kirk suddenly smirked back at him, a hard feral glint in his eyes.

"_I got your gun_."

Ripping the pistol out of its holster in a lightning fast move, Kirk shot the Romulan in the stomach.

Ayel barely had time for his smile to drop before his grip slackened, abruptly releasing Kirk and leaving him to barely catch himself the edge once again, dropping the pistol, as the corpse of the second-in-command toppled over into the gorge below. Aching and bruised and determined to live if only to spite the cosmos' many recent attempts to kill him, Kirk dragged himself up onto his elbows and, with a monumental effort, swung a leg up pulled himself over to safety, panting.

A voice rang out above him, sharp with panic.

"_James_!"

Kirk slammed a hand onto the grip of the Romulan pistol beside him and forced himself up onto his hands and knees. He felt a whisk of air as Valravn leapt down, landing in the balls of her toes and the fingertips of her right hand. There was a thin gash across one high cheekbone, trickling crimson down her left cheek and over her jaw, and her lip had been split, blood licked away but beading afresh, threads of ebony hair coming loose from her braid.

"V-" Kirk coughed out, his throat burning.

"Are you hurt?" Valravn asked breathlessly, her gaze searing as the stars.

"No, I'll be fine," Jim groaned, rubbing his reddened throat cautiously, but he couldn't resist a joke. "_Argh._ Damnit. Does pride count?"

"Not if you have a healthy surplus of it," Valravn shot back, the casual barb marking her as relieved enough to indulge him. She skimmed their surroundings critically, absently swiping a heavy trail of blood from her cheek, smearing her fingers with wet red. "Hm. And there is serendipity at its finest; I think we may actually be on the right level- from here we will have to double back to where I just was, across the way."

"Alright. No time to lose." Kirk nodded his acquiesce and she began leading the way, seeking a passage across.

Panels of spare metal had been placed at intervals between the platforms, presumably so that maintenance workers could cross with ease. The makeshift bridges rattled below them disconcertingly, and they stepped lightly, entering the other side and ducking under wires, both of them rigid with impatience.

"What took you so long, anyway?" Kirk asked, the timbre of his voice low to keep the sound from ricocheting and being amplified by the metal walls; the last thing they needed was yet another surprise attack.

"There were seven of them," Valravn admitted. "And, then about five more came."

"You call a dozen a _few_?!" Kirk returned in a furious hiss; if he had known there were that many, he would have gone with her.

"I knew that I could handle them. Admittedly I was not expecting the extra five, but that unforeseen complication was soon- resolved."

Kirk snorted softly, incredulous. "Thought all this fighting was _taking its toll_."

"I _lied_," Valravn shrugged, unabashed. "I happen to do that upon occasion."

"Why would you lie about _that_?"

"In this case?" Valravn's brow arched, accompanied by the shadow of a shrewd, deviously satisfied smirk. "Commander Spock has a considerable amount of anger to work through at the moment; I thought that he could benefit from expressing it to its direct source. Meditation has many advantages, of course, but in the meantime he might as well put that energy to good use."

"Considerate of you." Kirk smiled faintly.

"Again, I do that occasionally."

Their route began intersecting with areas that she had already cleared, and Kirk pulled ahead, checking each doorway for flitting movement. It didn't take him long to realise that there was a trail of bodies following Valravn's path- like a macabre form of breadcrumbs- marking where she had passed through, having torn through her opponents with nearly mechanical brutality, leaving them unconscious, incapacitated from their injuries, or quite possibly dead or dying where they lay.

"All these years that you have known me," she said softly from behind him; he could hear the empty humour in her voice, "and yet you are _still_ surprised."

Jim was quiet. A part of him had always known, or at least suspected, the destructive damage she could unleash with little effort- yet never once had he felt less than safe around her.

"I think," he said carefully, "I never realised just how much self-control you have."

Valravn laughed, mirthlessly, cold as dawn air.

"I have had a lot practice. Still. It is always best to keep the most dangerous weapons holstered until you have a real need of them- _Captain_."

Kirk didn't have the time to riddle out her meaning- she could tie and embroider so many ideas and implications into a word- as he realised that they were approaching the chamber where Pike was being kept.

"_Cover_," he directed in a murmur, and she nodded mutely, turning her back to the frame of the doorway, alternating between watching the hallway outside and the chamber within. Kirk slipped inside, phaser pistol raised.

* * *

The _Narada_ dropped out of warp, roaring out of the void, into a blank stretch of space safely beyond the edges of the Terran solar system. Spock had already looped the _Jellyfish_ back around towards where he knew the immense ship would appear in pursuit, charging the goliath craft like a bullet on what the _Jellyfish_'s systems announced was a collision course.

At this realisation and its captain's shouted order across the bridge, the _Narada_ emptied its weapons bay of every last shell of ammunition it had_._

"_Incoming missiles. If the ship is hit, the red matter will be ignited_."

Spock glared up across the controls and through the screen, unwaveringly composed as he watched a scattering of pinpricks of light appear from within the _Narada's_ spines, coursing towards him like meteors.

"_Understood_," he acknowledged.

_This_, Spock decided, if it must be so, was not such an undesirable way to die.

And then the _Narada's_ computers detected a second ship.

In a glorious burst of light and quicksilver, the _Enterprise_ tore out of warp, guns ablaze, and immediately began taking out the missiles speeding towards the tiny vessel. The _Enterprise_ soared into the fray, as confident and sure as her security chief's strikes or her helmsman's blade or the minds and tongues of her various captains and acting captains throughout the days past- red streaks of condensed energy detonated the arrowhead-darts of green with ruthless precision, intercepting each one in a spray of orange that quickly burned out and was swallowed by the vacuum of space.

Untouched, the _Jellyfish_ continued powering for the _Narada_.

* * *

There was a total of one guard standing over Pike, and one clean shot from the pilfered phaser pistol as he turned the corner took that problem out of the equation. Pike, strapped down to an incredibly uncomfortable-looking metal table, stirred at the sound, and Kirk felt a wash of relief as he charged over to his side.

"What are you doing here?" Pike muttered groggily; he was barely conscious, yet somehow he still managed to give the reprimand a tartness that Kirk had never thought he would be grateful for.

"Just following orders," Kirk grinned, holstering the phaser, unbuckling Pike's restraints with hands that shook with haste. "By the way- V is here and kicking so much ass. So much for choosing command over security."

"Never gonna let that go, are you," Pike groaned, the corner of his mouth twitching up weakly, head tilting upwards to glower at him.

"_She_ might." Kirk flipped one of the wide worn leather bands out of the way, leaning over to undo one of the cuffs around Pike's wrists. "I won't."

Pike's gaze drifted behind Kirk, and- with a surge of energy he shouldn't have reasonably had- shot up, tearing the pistol out of Kirk's holster and firing off two clean shots.

Kirk twisted to look behind him as the two crew members he hadn't even heard approaching dropped, their chests smoking.

* * *

With no weapons or ammunition, the _Narada_ and her crew could only watch while the star-bright _Jellyfish_ careened for its exposed heart, accelerating ruthlessly. Although its pilot could not have known it, he was delineating a path that was almost identical to the one sketched by the _Kelvin's_ failing systems and George Kirk just over twenty-five years ago.

The only true difference was that the end result would be far more catastrophic. Nero, catatonic with disbelief and uncomprehending anger as his crew panicked and fled from the bridge, watched Spock approach with their mutual death.

Inside the _Narada_, Kirk hauled Pike off the table and shouted into his restored communications.

"_Enterprise, now_!"

Threads of light began winding themselves around Spock as he pushed the engines harder, the turbine spinning with a sound like knives sharpening-

The _Jellyfish _impacted in a flash of fire that sent the larger ship's articulated metal spines clanking.

* * *

_May 18, 2258 – U.S.S. _Enterprise

Valravn felt herself dissolving, countless molecules reconstructing themselves back into blood and tissue and hair and fabric without losing a single atom, and the moment seemed to last an eternity within and a second without when she emerged, like a dream upon waking.

Then the light hit her eyes.

Spock glanced for confirmation of the arrival of the others before he rushed off the platform, as Kirk- supporting Pike, who was looking marginally better than Valravn's mental definition of the wrong side of _half-dead_; she would take what she could get at this point, and in possession of a pulse was alive enough- surveyed his surroundings and rapidly melted into a grin.

"Nice timing, Scotty!"

The engineer whooped a laugh, the red-shirted technician next to him similarly giddy. "I've never beamed _four_ people from _three_ targets onto the same pad before!"

"Congratulations," Valravn said almost absently as she swept over to throw Pike's other arm over her shoulders, gripping his wrist and helping Kirk walk him off the pad- he still had several severely bruised ribs at the very least, she remembered, and only the stars and the Romulan crew knew what internal injuries had been inflicted upon Pike with during the past few days- her hand meeting with Kirk's bicep around their captain's back, grasping instinctively through the fabric for the warmth beneath. "I'm so glad you saved us from certain death _and_ added that improbable success to your Starfleet file."

Pike turned his head towards her voice, almost intelligible through the haze of pain.

"_Raven?"_

"If you even entertained the possibility that I was dead, I will be _incredibly_ insulted," Valravn replied coolly, somehow managing to tamp down her relieved smile. She lowered her voice slightly, so that only he and Kirk could hear. "Also I will disown you."

Valravn saw Kirk smile slightly just before the doors slid open.

"_Jim_!"

Kirk looked up. "Bones!"

McCoy sprinted inside, a white-clad medical team hot on his heels and brandishing equipment with what would have been alarming efficiency if it wasn't both welcome and reassuring.

"I got him-"

Valravn slid aside to let the doctor take the captain's weight, another of the medical team slotting into Kirk's place on the other side. As she followed them out of the transport room, the gleaming _Enterprise_'s interior too bright and unreal after the rust and dark of the _Narada_'s bowels, Valravn realised that she was shaking, and forced herself to stop with a bite of her nails into her palms.

The fingers of her right hand were still stained with her own blood. No one would notice more.

The door slid shut with a whir behind them, Spock and Uhura striding ahead of them to the nearest turbo lift, walking so closely together that their arms almost brushed; not that, Valravn doubted, anyone had noticed but her. She could see the tremors shivering through Kirk as he turned towards her, earnest, Pike being carefully but hastily transported away- most likely to theatre, to diagnose and begin repairing days of damage. The thought of him being cut open neatly, wasting muscle and skin peeled back to see bruised organs and drugged streams of blood, made her empty stomach roil slightly. Had she been less accustomed to embowelled organs and crushed bones and pain that belonged to someone else- the most vivid of academy combat simulations had spat her out into every scenario and demanded she remain calm, hardening her for battle-related death, including her own, so that she wouldn't freeze in the moment- she probably would have soiled the _Enterprise_'s polished floors with whatever acid and bile was left in her guts.

_Ah, the benefits of being a killer_\- then she realised that Kirk was talking to her.

"If you need to go with him-" Jim murmured, quick and soft, so that a retreating Spock and Uhura couldn't hear.

"_No_." Valravn interrupted, her sharp edges blunted by exhaustion and anger and frustration. "What I _need_ is to be on the bridge. I _need_ to satisfy the duty assigned to me," she took a thoughtless, furious step closer, invading his space ruthlessly, looking up into his eyes and forcing him to do the same with her, "and I _need_ to be your security chief and see this _finished_ instead of dithering in a medical ward fretting over things that I cannot control. Now just- _let me go where I am useful_ and- shut the hell up, James, before my teeth start to ache from all this sweetness."

Valravn could see that Kirk wanted to say something- it was in the way he drew in a pain-laced breath, the way his lips parted slightly, the way his shoulders tensed- but, although he had always been bolder than her, he only thumbed a thread of bloodstained hair behind her ear.

"When this is over, let's- let's go somewhere, somewhere outside the city, and just- count stars."

Valravn blinked.

"_What_?"

"I've wanted to do it," Kirk continued determinedly, not meeting her eyes, betraying uncharacteristic uncertainty, "ever since that summer- that song- it's stupid, I know, okay, but let's face it, a lot of stuff has been trying to kill us recently, and I just thought-"

"_Lately, lately, I've been losing sleep,_" she interrupted quietly, rolling her eyes, folding her arms over her chest- but even she knew that it was more fond than it was scathing, and the words carried the melody of the song behind it. "_Dreaming about the things that we could be_…"

"_But baby, I've been, I've been praying hard,_" Kirk sang back softly in a voice like whiskey and smoke, "_said no more counting dollars-_"

"Yes," Valravn interrupted with a tired, smiling sigh. "Alright, fine. Yes. _We'll be counting stars._"

Kirk's stark blue gaze skimmed over her- the blood of her cheek, the cut that had sealed and was healing already, the shadows under and inside her eyes, lower lip darker from being smashed with the butt of a rifle in the melee- and hardened over.

"Let's end this, V."

* * *

"Captain, the enemy ship is losing power!" Chekov all but chirped as they strode aboard the bridge. "Their shields are down, sir!"

Kirk, walking alongside Spock purposefully, had something viciously and intoxicatingly victorious in his tone as he gave his order.

"_Hail them now_."

"Aye," Chekov replied with an audible grin, Valravn returning to her station at his right, realigning the controls before her, waking her terminal and sweeping aside a stack of reports she would deal with later; on her periphery, Uhura disappeared to the back of the bridge, her black hair skittering against her back.

No one on the bridge fully understood why it was worth opening up a channel, when the destruction of the enemy was imminent- even as they watched, particles of red matter collided and reacted and ignited in a blast of silver light that splintered and reformed like a spider-web around a spinning disk of pure black, bisecting the _Narada_ and creating a reaction so potent that it tore through the laws of physics as they knew it. No doubt, alarms were blaring through the _Narada_ as its sensors detected the way the hull was twisting and crumpling underneath the pressure. But no one questioned the young captain's decision, in light of the impossible triumph he had delivered them- they could not even begrudge him the chance to face Nero for the last time, if that was what he wanted; most, if not all of them, knew the surname _Kirk_, and what it meant in Starfleet. The grief was fresh in the human-Vulcan officer beside him too, and closure- even if it meant wounds soothed by cold revenge- was well earned.

When Nero's image flashed across the view screen, Kirk spoke with natural authority, standing directly before the semi-translucent, intermittent image of Nero visible through the failing transmission- Spock at his shoulder, serene and tense and somehow at ease- both of them standing tall and only inches apart.

The image felt oddly- complete. As though something important had fallen into place.

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_," Kirk said calmly. "Your ship is compromised- too close to the singularity to survive without assistance, which we are willing to provide."

Valravn raised an eyebrow. She wasn't sure whether she was shocked by the move, or completely unsurprised.

Spock's paused for a split second, and turned his back to the screen, speaking quietly and evenly to Kirk.

"Captain, what are you doing?"

"Showing compassion may be the only way to peace with the Romulans," Kirk reasoned in a murmur, moving with the science officer to confer. "It's _logic_, Spock- thought you'd like that."

"No, not really," Spock admitted, with a matter-of-fact tone and a relaxed expression that was both incredibly Vulcan and extremely human in the same breath; it was by far the most open and authentic that Valravn had ever seen her tutor. "Not this time."

"_I would rather suffer the end of Romulus a _thousand times," Nero interrupted, bringing both the acting captain and science officer swivelling back to face him. "_I would rather die in _agony_ than accept assistance from _you_-!_"

Kirk smirked.

"You got it," he said darkly, and both he and Spock turned away in unison, returning to their stations briskly. "_Arm phasers, fire everything we've got!_"

"Yes, sir," Valravn responded, pulling up her weapons controls, locking her target and pressing her fingertips down so hard that she thought she might rupture the screen.

The entire bridge twisted to witness the unspeakable sight. Their guns hammered relentlessly against the weakening _Narada_, breaking it apart, the ship shuddering as it was drawn backwards into the void, drawn deeper by the immense inescapable gravity, drifting ripples of light radiating from the singularity- shattering apart.

And then, the brittle metal was crushed with a twisting swirl in the eye of maelstrom, swallowed by the darkness.

A warning blared up onscreen immediately in its aftermath, flashing red- _gravitational pull_.

"Sulu, let's _go_!"

"Aye, sir!" Sulu shouted back, his and Chekov's hands moving across their station screens, turning the vessel about smoothly.

The _Enterprise_ shuttered and rattled powerfully around them, her engines blasting at full power, nacelles flaring blue- but although the stars should have been churning past, they remained almost perfectly static.

"_Why aren't we at warp_?" Kirk demanded over a cacophony of sirens, the chaos of sound rising like the shriek of startled birds.

"We _are_, sir!" Chekov replied.

Kirk opened a channel on the captain's controls embedded at the left-hand armrest of the chair. "Kirk to Engineering: get us _out of here_, Scotty-"

"_You bet your ass, Captain_!" The speaker at his side yelled back eagerly, warped by the connection and the echo of the open bay and the worrying rattle of exertion from the _Enterprise_'s state of the art inner workings.

The _Enterprise_ seemed to shriek as her structure was tested to the limit by the immense pull of the singularity, swirling like a vortex astern even as the engine's turbines drove against it, the metal skeleton and elegant shape of her threatening to buckle.

"_Captain, we're caught in the gravity well, it's got us-!_" Scott bellowed through the connection.

Most captains might have collapsed under the metaphorical and very literal pressure.

"_Go to maximum warp! Push it!_" Kirk commanded.

"_I'm giving it all she's got, Captain!_" The exasperated engineer yelled over the screaming warp drive- unnoticed, Valravn visibly winced at the sound, slicing through her skull, the rest of the crew white-knuckled.

The bridge officers looked up as the chamber snarled around them, cracks tearing through the ceiling, lights flickering out violently.

"All she's got isn't _good enough_!" Kirk shouted above the noise, implacable. "What else you got?!"

"_Argh, o-okay, if we eject the core and detonate it, the blast could be enough to push us away, I cannae promise anything though-!_" Scott churned out a last, desperate idea.

The view screen- made of translucent reinforced aluminium, several inches thick, tested under the harshest conditions that scientists could imagine- _fractured_ with a dozen fissures, threatening to splinter apart under the stress.

"_DO IT, DO IT, DO IT-!_"

Down in the heart of the engineering department's most vital deck, Scott ordered the area clear and ejected the warp core, spitting it out towards the black hole gaping behind them, primed to ignite from within.

The explosion was silent and immense. A wave of white-blue fire surged from behind them- engulfing them and sending the bridge crew slamming back in their seats as a siren wailed in warning.

And then they were soaring clear, the arc of the energy burst behind them, the _Enterprise_'s sleek form trailing luminous dust.

Sulu slumped back, exhausted. Chekov almost crumpled onto his station in relief, shaking. Uhura was numb and wide-eyed, one hand left hovering over her terminal as she stared out into the open space beyond their cracked view screen. Valravn had blood beneath her nails and the strangest urge to weep, tipping her head back against the seat and closing her eyes.

Kirk swivelled the captain's chair to look at Spock, who offered a small but meaningful nod of solidarity.

It was done.

Kirk spun the chair back to exchange a grin with the chief of navigation and helmsman, and began to laugh softly, radiant with a well-fought victory.

A sigh seemed to exhale across the bridge, and Valravn was the first to move; setting her controls on standby, she rose from her seat and walked up to the damaged screen, fingertips brushing over one of the fine fractures.

The motion seemed to snap Kirk awake, and he straightened, taking a deep breath to re-centre himself. "Mr Sulu, Mr Chekov- if you could plot us a swift course back to Earth's solar system and Starbase 1 for repairs. Uhura, please send a request down to Engineering for a preliminary damage report and basic repairs- enough to keep us and our essential systems stable and running until we can dock should be fine- and a communication to Starfleet HQ to explain the situation."

Valravn turned away from the screen with a sweep of her finger, striding past her seat and around the navigation terminal and halting at the side of the captain's chair, nudging the back of her fingers against Kirk's shoulder.

The acting captain looked up, blue eyes startling against flushed skin.

"Medical bay," Valravn uttered simply.

"Pike will still be in theatre, but I guess I-"

"Have at least two cracked ribs, extensive bruising, potentially a concussion and a fractured jaw, and a plethora of possible internal injuries," she finished on his behalf, knocking her knuckles against his shoulder again. "_Up_, now."

Kirk levered himself out of the seat. "It can _wait_, Lieutenant, I don't-"

As he straightened, Kirk suddenly doubled over slightly with a hiss of unexpected pain, clutching his side, the adrenaline that had sapped the feeling ebbing. Valravn darted forwards to loop an arm around him, letting him rest a hand against her shoulder.

"Okay, point taken," Kirk muttered grudgingly through his jaw, and Valravn- with a subtle, forbearing lift of her eyes to the split ceiling that amused the few bridge officers that saw it- began to steer him towards the turbolift. "Mr Spock, you have the conn."

Valravn delivered him into the lift, pressing the button for the medical deck. McCoy would be busy with Pike in theatre, but heads would roll if he heard of Kirk not being properly treated- Valravn would have to stay with him to make sure he actually sat still and allowed them to make sure he didn't puncture a lung or something equally disastrous.

"Remember what you promised," Kirk murmured, tipping his head back against the curved wall as the doors, one a screen as translucent as glass and the other opaque metallic white, slid closed.

Valravn stood directly opposite him as the lift descended, hands wrapped around the waist-high railing behind her, one knee bending. "I remember no such _promise_."

Kirk glared down at her through bronze lashes. "_V_," he warned.

"Don't _whine_, James," she admonished, a smile softening her mouth. "I didn't promise."

Valravn gave him no opportunity to argue before the lift doors slid open and she ejected him onto the medical floor; it was quieter than when she had been there earlier, even if there were frantic preparations being made in one of the operating theatres. A glance to a passing nurse as she bought Kirk into a ward she knew should be fairly empty was enough to assure her that assistance would be along shortly, and Valravn directed him with a gentle shove onto a vacant, smoothly curved biobed.

It reminded her, watching Kirk as he gingerly situated himself and settled back- a testament to how hurt and tired he truly was, lying down instead of sitting up and grinning and actively making as much of a nuisance of himself as possible; Leonard McCoy's questionable bedside manner aside, Jim was the worst patient any member of medical staff could encounter, aside from the good doctor himself- of that night when she had bought him back onto academy grounds and tranquilised him to shut him up. Closing his eyes, he looked peaceful, chest rising and falling with each breath, catching with the sting from his cracked ribs.

Jim suddenly opened his eyes- his irises unbearably blue- and smiled at her dreamily. "Hey," he said softly.

Valravn smiled back slightly.

"Hey," she echoed, skimming the inside of the wrist closest to her, pushing up the black fabric. He turned his hand upwards and captured her fingers, and Valravn made no effort to resist.

"Are you alright?" Kirk asked. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Valravn lifted a free hand to trace the split in her lower lip. "I'll heal."

She felt his thumb stroke over her knuckles absently. "You should- probably go and see Pike…"

"I think you will find I cannot do _anything_ like this," she retorted, not looking at him as she tugged at his hand indicatively, his grip keeping her pinned where she was.

Kirk laughed, but made no move to release her.

"Nope. Never letting you go," he said, lifting her fingers to his mouth. "I've decided- I'd die without you, sweetheart."

"Is that one of your lines?" Valravn said dryly, monitoring the doorway for approaching medical staff, the flourish of warmth uncoiling inside her.

She quickly smothered it, anchoring herself to the reality that she knew. It was nice, occasionally, to let herself be convinced that Kirk meant what he said- but experience had taught her that the only way to protect herself was to push past the illusion, even if it meant falling and getting bruised on whatever waited on the other side.

Valravn was exhausted by it- ignoring and brushing it off with her shield of sarcasm and the acid edge of her tongue so that it couldn't become a weakness.

But to cut ties- even in order to eliminate a weakness- was _unthinkable_.

"You, James Kirk, are an _excellent_ flirt." She said, extricating her fingers from his.

When he acted the Prince Charming towards her, she didn't- _couldn't_\- trust him.

"Oh, baby, I'm the best," Kirk shot back with a strange expression that Valravn couldn't place.

"Even the best needs a warm-up before the main event," Valravn remarked, pressing her thumbnail into the covers of the biobed, the warmth his hand had transferred to hers evaporating.

"They're not the ones with me right now."

Tugging her braid over her shoulder and skimming her fingertips over the metal clasp, Valravn smiled- only a little bitterly.

_This is enough._

"No. No, I suppose not."


	15. Chapter XV: To Set A Broken Bone

_**A/N:** I come up with a horrible idea, briefly mention it in an author's note and the first review I get back on the chapter boils down to 'please write it'. You people are enablers._

_(But I still can't get over the idea of Admiral Marcus as Viscount Mabrey. And Pike as Joe but taking on the Prime Minister title, while the palace chief of security is Sulu. And Carol Marcus as Lady Elyssa. _Someone stop me_.)_

_I also have a second AU idea thanks to an incredible heist!AU trailer I saw on YouTube set to Fortune Days. Imagine: Kirk as a charming con artist, Pike as his mentor- Spock as the team strategist, Bones as the insider, team coordinator and medic, Uhura as a trained spy, translator and infiltrator, Chekov as a computer hacker, Sulu as an expert getaway driver who plans their escape routes, Scotty as a plant and safe-cracker- Marcus as the target- and Khan as the money-man, just for kicks. As_ _for Valravn- well, her place in the entire escapade would spoil it. But their team codename they decide on at the end? Why, they are the Enterprise, of course._

_(Maybe I should just say screw it and create a short AU series for these ideas- I may as well throw in a mob!AU and Romeo and Juliet!AU while I'm at it. Oh, no, I shouldn't have thought of that… Bones as_ Mercutio._ Or worse- Sulu as Tybalt. And Spock as Benvolio. _Someone stop me already why aren't you stopping me_.)_

_Hah… anyway. I crawled out from under a mountain of work, including exam revision and university applications, and finally got this down on digital paper. Sigh. I still need to set up a new bank account and apply for student finance by the end of May. Plus I'm getting no study leave. Which means stress, which means migraines. Joy._

_On a side note, after-action scenes are foul to write. I hate to say it, but visual media really does do it better; there's a quietness and a sense of aftershock you can capture onscreen that doesn't translate well to written stuff except in philosophical ramblings. I did my best, anyway._

_If it helps you get through this slow-as-molasses chapter, a _Pulp Fiction_-esque non-chronological chapter is planned next and already partially written. It includes a minor character who we never even see in the final cut of the movie (you do in one deleted scene though), Valravn leaving town for a week, and Kirk and Spock playing three-dimensional chess. And then-_ finally-_ that chapter we have all been waiting for, myself included. Valames will become official at long last._

_(Not sure about that portmanteau ship name, though. Jalravn? Winterk? Ngh, stupid incompatible names. If someone can think of another one, I'd love to hear your suggestions. I played around with an idiosyncratic one, _Take Me To Church_: the name_ Kirk_ coming from an Old Norse word for_ church,_ and the overall phrase meaning to completely destroy someone in a fight and change their perspective permanently.)_

_Eh, anyway, Valravn's going to be pretty full of angst for a chapter or two. I've been listening to a lot of heartbreak songs- Taylor Swift's _I Knew You Were Trouble _and Bruno Mars'_ Grenade_ (and the fiercer _Pop Goes Punk_ covers by We Came As Romans and Memphis May Fire, respectively) on repeat while writing her sections._

_As ever- enjoy._

* * *

XV  
_To Set A Broken Bone_

_May 21, 2258 – U.S.S. _Enterprise

It hurt to set a broken bone.

Valravn should know; when she was thirteen, she had snapped her radius after falling from a high ledge and reset it herself. A vicious bouquet of deep-tissue bruises had lingered for thirty-two hours or so over the clean break, hidden under long sleeves and tight stiff bandages, before slowly fading out of existence. She never told anyone about the fall, or seen a doctor to assess the extent of the damage; Chris was off-planet at the time, and her logic had been that if it didn't hurt and she could use her arm without any problems, it had probably mended- she was always a fast healer, and done her research on how to properly align the bone. It was a stupid move, perhaps, but strangely no evidence of the break ever showed on any physical examinations, no matter how extensive they were- as though it had never happened.

But it had hurt, at the time, and that memory made it impossible to forget. To set a broken bone took strength, determination, resolve- and endurance of pain enough for a strangled shriek to be torn from her throat, an ache radiating from her jaw as it clenched down on the sound, the sound of the pop of cartilage and marrow under muscle sickening as she reset the break.

She hadn't slept much that night. But it was a good lesson: if you fall, you'll break something. And one way or another, if you want to survive, you have to find a way to fix it.

Valravn was also very well versed in how to clean up after a fight. Tie up your hair, pick out the glass, wash off the dirt, scrape off the blood- face the dawn when it comes for you and the smoke clears. But most of those aboard the _Enterprise_ had no idea what it felt like when the sky crashed down on them, and so it fell to Valravn to watch over them, unnoticed, as they pieced themselves back together and tried to heal.

Uhura remained on duty, assisting with fielding the countless outgoing messages that crewmembers were sending to loved ones and concerned parties; it was her way of helping, a way of remaining at the heart of the action where she could sort through her thoughts in peace- Valravn made her support known without a breath of a word. Spock was subdued, but that was a good sign; it meant self-reflection, which in turn meant that he was sorting through the welter of emotions that he was so unaccustomed to facing and the undeniable fact that there was something human in him that he could not shut away- she still sent Uhura to him more than once. McCoy, for all his criticisms of her, was tireless in his own work; he expressed worry through barked orders and general grouchiness, so she left him to his coping mechanisms and delivered him coffee once or twice, to his awkward gratitude.

Sulu had an air of confidence to him that was neither falsified nor entirely comfortable; he wore the mantle of responsibility well, but not easily, but he needed to feel in control, and the trust that the bridge wordlessly placed in him was a comfort to him- she let him take point, and ensured that he had the lead when he was not required to follow. Chekov was a wraith, a warm shadow, quiet with thought and considering his every movement; it was as though he had realised the weight of his existence, his mind, his abilities, seen them silhouetted against the world as he was tossed into a new perspective that raw intelligence couldn't prepare the mind for, and she left him to pick over that revelation with a single glance of understanding. Scott was jittery, restless, unused to people, she suspected, and accustomed to solitude; he occupied himself with repairs, a place for him in the engineering department being carved out around him, and day by day be emerged a little more into the company of others- she talked with him about his equation, and commented that she could probably fulfil his _blindfold-horse-bullet_ analogy with a little practice beforehand, to his amusement.

They were all quiet in their recovery, but opened up at enough prodding to the others who had gone through the same. That was a good sign. They would survive it, and the scars would heal but make them stronger. Much like a broken bone, she supposed.

And then there was James T. Kirk.

She hadn't spoken to him in days. He was actively avoiding her- for whatever reason. She didn't pretend to know why.

She convinced herself that it was fine, that she could wait, that she could easily allow him space if he needed it- he had certainly accommodated her enough times when she retreated into isolation- but every time she caught a glimpse of him, buoyant but without bravado, effortlessly approachable to anyone he encountered, exiting any vicinity she was approaching just before she arrived, Valravn was thirteen again and lying on the pavement, lightheaded, past disorientation but unable to think past how much it hurt.

She missed him in the same way she missed the pain when the bone in her arm mended; it had kept her awake and clung to her consciousness and hurt like hell, but if felt unnatural to be without it. The pain was real. It meant that she was alive.

But really, she concluded, it was better this way. This was how it felt to take a fall- it was a hard lesson, but it was the best time for her to relearn it.

The _Enterprise_ and her crew would see to their wounds, and she to hers.

Still, given a choice between a broken arm and a broken heart, she would take up a sledgehammer and shatter her forearm herself. The metaphorical heart was so much harder to piece back together, and it hurt infinitely worse.

* * *

_May 23, 2258 – East Wing Medical Bay A; Starbase 1_

The first thing Christopher Pike realised when he came to, before he had even opened his eyes, was that someone was playing through the fourth movement of Mozart's Jupiter Symphony on piano.

_Odd_. Valravn practiced at the instrument more and more infrequently as time passed, dedicating her time to the endless parade of books and combat simulation games and the martial arts classes that she had finally persuaded him to let her take, and she had something of a dislike for that particular piece and its composer anyway. In that case, she could only be playing it because of him. The little girl was considerate, in her obscure way- she reminded him of a cat, showing her affection in odd ways that he learned to accept over time. It was probably her way of calling a truce after their earlier argument. Chris was certain that they had disagreed about _something_, but he couldn't remember exactly _what_.

The second thing he realised was that there was a hand wrapped loosely around his, and something resting against the back of his fingers.

His first and only thought was of Valravn, again- there was no one else, logically, that it could have been.

But that couldn't be right. While still small in his palm, the hand was too large to belong to her- and how could she be playing the piano if she was next to him, anyway-? But then again, why should the hand be _small_? Valravn was a young woman now, old enough to be his security chief-

Chris opened his eyes.

The sterile ceiling of a medical bay met him on the other side of his eyelids. He was lying in a biobed, achingly tired, the strains of Symphony Number 41 issuing from somewhere on his right, fringed with the almost inaudible hum of the monitors; a sleek music player was set atop a unit hung with a radiant plastic sheet bearing his medical details.

Everything poured back in a deluge.

"She thought you might want to hear it when you woke up. Threatened that if anyone touched it, she'd cut off the offending appendage and make them sew it back on with nothing but a needle and thread," a familiar Southern lilt mentioned casually.

Pike absently stroked a thumb over one of her knuckles. "She hates Mozart, you know," he managed to articulate, despite his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. The white of the room and the doctor's scrubs were a shock of brightness against his retinas, almost overwhelming after the perpetual half-light of the _Narada_. "Calls him an obnoxious prick."

McCoy snorted. "'Course she does." He returned to skimming through the reading on the monitor. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck. And then it reversed." Pike responded tersely, shutting his eyes, attempting to press back the surreal haze at the edge of his senses; his bloodstream must be brimming with sedatives, more pulsing in to eradicate the pain beneath his skull. "How long was I out?"

"Five days. They had you for about seventy-two hours, give or take- try not to move. You're still recovering from a massive shock to your nervous and gastric system, not to mention we've been rehydrating you on top of a life-saving internal organ rejuve and revive," McCoy explained briskly. "We kept you under until your condition stabilised, so you're gonna feel more than a little groggy for a while- that's perfectly normal. Starbase 1, if you were wondering about the facility. Hopefully we can have you transferred planet-side within the week."

Pike made a noise of acknowledgement, and looked down at the dark smear of shape and shadow on his periphery.

Valravn- dressed all in black, seated in low, curved chair beside the biobed- was fast asleep, not even stirring at the sound of voices above her. Her head was pillowed on her arm, claiming a small section of the mattress, creasing the crisp white covers, her damp braid curling behind her, softening as it dried from a recent shower. She looked younger, somehow- or perhaps just her age, for once.

"Is she alright?"

McCoy glanced down at her, performing a visual cursory once-over. "Just exhausted, far as I can tell, not to mention overworked, but since when has that been new? No injuries, if that's what you're asking- she came back a little dinged up, but nothing serious. Besides, she heals up faster than anything I've ever seen." McCoy made a few notes on his PADD before setting it aside and taking out a slim bioscanner. "I'm surprised that she's finally getting some rest. She's been holding things together, but Jim was about ready to slip her a handful of sleeping pills and lock her in her room, and I was pretty tempted to let him."

Pike shifted minutely to look directly up at McCoy. "And how _is_ my first officer? I take it he hasn't created any more trouble for himself recently, or he wouldn't have been part of that rescue mission."

"I'll assume that you're referring to _Acting Captain_ Kirk. Oh yeah," McCoy added with a wry quirk of his brows, catching Pike's incredulous look, "Commander Spock resigned from the commission as acting captain due to being emotionally compromised. Although that was only after he marooned Jim on some icebox of a planet for perceived mutiny and the kid somehow reappeared on the _Enterprise_ with a Scottish engineer in tow."

Pike supposed he should have been surprised. Instead, he was just plain exasperated.

"I was gone for _three days_."

"Yeah, well."

Pike shook his head, the ache inside his temples and behind his eyebrows returning with a vengeance. "Tell me that nothing else happened that I should know about. Let me guess- he blew up the engines."

McCoy paused. "Well, he ordered the ejection and detonation of the warp core, does that count?"

Pike sighed. "_Christ_."

"Vitals are a little high," McCoy observed with a frown.

"Imagine that," Pike said dryly.

"In Jim's defence, the explosion stopped the entire ship from being sucked into whatever artificial singularity he used to get rid of Nero and the _Narada_," McCoy added offhandedly as he replaced the instrument in its slot in his tricorder, "and it looks like it equalised the reaction or something, too, so no more black hole."

"I do not want to know," Pike decided firmly. "Just as long as the Federation's headquarters are still standing, for the next twenty-four hours I don't care."

McCoy made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. "Then I guess that this is a good time to tell you that Raven briefly quit her commission as security chief."

Pike narrowly restrained a groan. "I'm too sober for this," he muttered.

"No alcohol for ten weeks," McCoy bit out, pausing in the transferral the bioscanner's readings to the main system. "Besides, you have no excuse- she came back."

"The problem is that she left in the first place."

_Especially after she fought me so hard in order to get there, _Pike added mentally, wincing as a ripple of pain passed through his ribs._ Of all the things I used to worry about when it comes to her, a _boy_ was not among them. And definitely not a boy like _Jim Kirk_. This is a parent's worst nightmare- I bet Karin is either in stitches laughing at me right now or ready to tear my head off for letting it get this far-_

Pike sighed at the thought and watched the doctor hover over the monitors for a few moments, a slight crease of focus forming between his dark brows.

"How bad is it?" He asked bluntly.

McCoy met his gaze steadily.

"How much to you remember?"

"Enough." Pike said flatly. "Specifically, some sort of insect that they said would latch onto my brainstem."

"A Centurian slug," McCoy clarified with admirable dispassion. "Nasty bugger. The extraction was a delicate procedure- spinal operations always are, no matter the tech advances. Good news is we got the little bastard out."

"Good news implies that there's bad news," Pike pointed out shrewdly.

"There was damage to your spinal cord, but we managed to minimise it and start the regeneration process before we closed you up," the doctor replied seamlessly. "We also put you on an anti-serum designed to neutralise the remaining toxins in your system, and a concentrated solution of regen steroids to kick-start your system and repair some of the internal damage. Long story short is that you'll be out of commission for at least three months, and even after your recovery you're not going to be running any back-to-back marathons, but aside from that, the projections show that you should be absolutely fine."

Pike sat up slightly, the small of his back shrieking in protest through the muffling wall of painkillers. "No long-term paralysis?"

"None. The sedatives we gave you aren't exactly helping with the numbness at the moment, but it was essential after what you've been through. We'll take you off it once you're not going to go into medical shock- there's still extensive internal tissue trauma. In the next few months you'll need physio, and patience- we should also look at dietary supplements and medication, maybe some neuro-stimulation to help facilitate your recovery, but we can organise all that later." McCoy jabbed a digit in the direction of the sleeping security chief. "I'll have her enforcing it if I have to."

"_Hn_. Duly noted."

Valravn tensed suddenly, rising onto her elbows and snarling like a disturbed cat, waking up rapidly.

McCoy shot her a slightly wary look, before leaving Pike with a respectful nod. "That's my cue. I'll leave you two to it," he said, and made a swift, quiet departure.

As McCoy disappeared, Valravn hissed out a slow breath and sat up, limbs visibly heavy, and slumped back in her chair, blinking the colour back into her eyes with a flutter of her lashes.

"Hi. You're awake," she observed dully, irises flat and glossy. "How do you feel on a scale of _like death warmed over_ to _I just need a stiff drink and I'll be fine_?"

"How about we go with both and everything in between?"

Valravn made a noise of vague amusement in the back of her throat, resting one elbow on the mattress and swiping the corners of her eyes.

"Nice try, but I'm not that stupid. Besides, I don't have the energy to fight off an angry Dr McCoy, and definitely not for the sake of two fingers of cheap synthesised bourbon. Your boy is fine, before you ask," she continued, in a speech that Pike was fairly sure had to have been mentally rehearsed. "A few scratches on the paint job, but nothing that couldn't be repaired."

"And how about my girl?" Pike inquired mildly.

Valravn snorted, irises sharpening just slightly.

"I am _nobody's_ girl."

"Sure you are. Just not sure if you're mine. Don't think you've ever been."

Pike didn't know what had possessed him to say such a thing; maybe it was the recent spate of near-death experiences. In response, Valravn only proved her exhaustion and dropped her arm back onto the mattress, resting her cheek on her wrist.

"Sorry," she murmured tiredly. "I'm a bad niece."

"I'm not exactly a great uncle," Pike admitted. "We kind of fell into this."

Valravn hummed in acknowledgement. "It's all her fault, really. You were and still are the best uncle I could have asked for; you were just never built to be my legal guardian."

After a moment, she shifted to look at him.

"I don't blame you for preferring him, Chris," she said, utterly without acrimony. "I know you must think I was- that I _am_\- resentful-"

"I do_ not_-" Pike interrupted with a blunt stab of guilt in his stomach.

"- but I do understand," Valravn cut him off effortlessly. "He's- _warmer_. An ego that needs deflation and a temper that needs defusing; you know how to handle that, how to help him. I never made it easy for you- I was too difficult, too cold, too distant- I never needed you in the same way that he did-"

"That doesn't mean-"

"I always liked that you never bothered with lying to me, Chris, please don't break that trend now," Valravn requested flatly. "I know that you prefer him, and I don't mind. He's my favourite too, remember? Which, I might add, is _your _fault. You never should have sent me after him that night."

Pike gazed at her, long and hard, struggling to accept what she was telling him.

"It shouldn't be like this, Raven."

"Maybe not. But it _is_, evidently," she said calmly. "We have to make the best of it. The heart isn't logical; that's the beauty of it."

Pike snorted, fondly. "When did you get so wise?"

"While you weren't looking." Valravn leaned back and stretched out emphatically, fingers lacing and arms arching above her head. "Get some rest- _actual_ rest, not sedative-induced rest. You need it. I'll be back later."

Unceremoniously, she stood and began walking for the door, still flexing out her limbs.

"You do know that if anyone ever hurt you, I'd feed them their teeth," Pike felt the need to mention.

Valravn sounded vaguely amused, not even a hitch in her stride. "Yes, I know, and all in spite of the fact that I could easily do it myself. I appreciate the sentiment though, uncle mine. Now get some sleep, Chris. I'll sneak you some junk food or something later."

Contrary to feeling as though they had once again painted over the cracks, as Pike watched the door slide shut behind her, he had the distinct feeling that something had at long last been settled.

* * *

_2 June, 2258 – San Francisco; California, Earth_

"I've been wondering something."

Spock Prime looked up, enquiringly. "And what would that be?"

Kirk had chosen a place by the river that was rarely frequented by San Francisco's considerable foot traffic, but still had both the aesthetics and cool early-summer breeze of the overpriced cafes with views overlooking the bay. It made them unlikely to be spotted by anyone who would recognise Jim Kirk or the half-Vulcan he was standing with who, technically speaking, should not exist. The weather that day was what Valravn would refer to as violently cheerful, the sun beating down with relentless heat, the pinnacle of the cloudless, infinite skies a shade of blue closer to the colour of Kirk's eyes than hers- it reminded him of the day that they had spent on the sands of one of California's many beaches before their vacation the previous summer.

If he closed his eyes for an instant, but for the absence of the tang of salt and seaweed and icy waves of the Pacific- and the smirk in Valravn's voice before she plunged into the water- it felt the exactly same.

"Your vessel- the _Jellyfish_," Kirk elaborated, leaning against the guardrail, gazing out across the stretch of glittering water, waves winking in the sunshine. "Did you name it that because of me?"

He could swear that there was a slight edge of amusement- or perhaps simply nostalgia, like an old in-joke that had never quite lost its shine- to Spock Prime's tone. "I will not deny that your peculiar preoccupation with the species, considering that to the best of my knowledge you have had no meaningful interaction with one, was a contributing factor-"

"They don't have _brains_," Kirk protested, aghast.

"Nor do they have the intent to harm you, and the majority of most species you could encounter also do not have the capacity."

Kirk scoffed, but it came out more amused than disdainful.

"I think he's going to leave, you know," he mentioned casually.

"You refer to Spock," Spock Prime deduced immediately.

"Yeah. Out of some complicated sense of duty, probably," Kirk said. "Or maybe shame. What I don't understand is that he joined Starfleet when he was accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy right before he left. Why?"

Spock Prime turned a piercing, inquisitive gaze on Kirk- one that he was steadily learning was the closest approximation to the human equivalent of polite surprise.

"How did you know about that?"

"Looked up his records. It's not my fault that someone forgot to revoke my acting captain status after I got back planetside," Kirk replied with a blithe carelessness, before realising something in a flash, expression shifting with the calculation. "Wait- does that mean you got into the Science Academy too? Why'd you turn the place down? Why Starfleet?"

Spock Prime's reply was careful. "There were a number of reasons that Starfleet presented itself as an appealing and logical choice." He paused, reflecting upon something. "However, if I were being entirely truthful- and although I cannot speak for the Spock of this timeline- my decision was rooted more deeply in personal reasons than in pure logic."

"What personal reasons could make you react like-" Kirk stopped. "Your mother."

"Many of those in positions of authority viewed my human genetics as an intrinsic disadvantage," he stated. "No doubt, if you know of the prestige of a place in the Vulcan Science Academy, you will know why emotion is viewed as a weakness- how it almost destroyed us, once- how that time was savage, barbaric, even by the standards of Earth- how rage and hate and suspicion was nearly our undoing."

"Emotion can also be strength," Kirk countered unwaveringly. "Emotion is what makes us beings with things to lose- what makes us willing to fight until the bitter end, what tips the scales. It gives us something worth fighting _for_." He realised that Spock Prime was gazing at him intently, and changed the subject. "And, besides- isn't there some kind of philosophy in the Vulcan sciences that celebrates diversity? _Infinite possibility in infinite combinations_? Something like that?"

"_Infinite diversity in infinite combinations_, yes," Spock Prime corrected him. "In Vulcan, it is called _Kol-Ut-Shan. _You have been doing research."

"A little," Kirk demurred swiftly. "So, you refused the place because they basically insulted your mother. Nice. Go you."

"There was also the matter that no individual of Vulcan descent had enrolled in Starfleet at that time, and that the inclusivity of the institution fostered understanding and peace between species ad cultures, of which I was and remain an advocate of- perhaps more so in later years." Spock Prime said. "But at its crux- indeed, that was a not inconsiderable factor in my decision."

Kirk grinned. "You two are stubborn, huh?"

"A characteristic that you always firmly viewed as a virtue," Spock Prime commented neutrally.

"Then it's going to be difficult to change his mind," Kirk determined swiftly. "How do I get him to reconsider?"

Spock Prime raised an eyebrow slightly. "I would advocate simply speaking with him, Jim."

"Yeah, somehow I don't think a talk from me is going to be all that persuasive," he said sceptically. "I'd ask Uhura to discuss it with him, but I think there's still some contempt left that I'd like to let die of its own accord- she's been fairly civil recently. It's kind of nice, actually. But, to be honest, I don't think she'd do it anyway- probably believes that he needs to make his own choice."

"Indeed," Spock Prime agreed. "That said, it is my belief that, despite your turbulent beginnings, he respects your opinion more than you might believe. It was you, after all, that demonstrated to him that emotions cannot be simply supressed without consequence. It was also you who all but vouched for his return to the bridge of the _Enterprise_ during the proverbial eleventh hour and trusted him to work with you as an equal. And, in spite of his earlier actions, you bore him no ill-will in the aftermath."

Kirk strummed his fingers on the salt-stained guardrail. "You really think he'll listen to me?"

"What alternative can you propose?"

"Well- I wrote in my report that, while flawed and pretty damn inflexible, his conduct was admirable given the circumstances and I would gladly serve with him again. Then I let that fact leak and I'm currently denying it to anyone who brings it up. The rumour's all over campus at this point, so it's only a matter of time before it reaches him," Kirk admitted nonchalantly. "I don't know, does that count?"

"I had almost forgotten your skill in the art of deception and misdirection," Spock Prime replied almost dryly.

"Eh, it's for a good cause," Kirk shrugged, smirking.

"Even so, I stand by my initial assessment."

"Noted. I'll give it a shot." He leaned against the guardrail warily, a particularly fierce lash of wind setting sea-spray showering down against the concrete. "What about V?"

"I would give you the same advice: you must speak with her."

"Yeah," Kirk muttered, uncomfortably, "I don't think that's such a great idea."

"You appear very certain of this. Have you attempted to do so yet?"

Kirk leaned on his forearms against the railing and laced his fingers together, saying nothing.

"May I infer from your silence that you either said something disastrous, or that in fact the problem lies with what you did _not_ say?"

Kirk groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. "Look, it's stupid and immature and cowardly-"

"Not a trait I would easily attribute to you."

"People in love do strange things," Kirk said softly. "I've been avoiding her since- I don't know how to tell her." He stared up at the skyline, as though it might have the answers etched within it. "All I know is that I don't want to lose her- her friendship- for anything, and that if I see her right now, I'm going to say something stupid."

"Jim," Spock Prime intoned patiently. "You have but to speak from the heart."

"Yeah, well, the heart is kind of inarticulate," Kirk commented flatly, looking down, his jaw flexing with frustration.

"That is not how I recall it," Spock Prime replied. "Rather, you were always at your most eloquent when you spoke purely as you felt."

"But I don't know if that's what she wants. Or if she would even believe me- sometimes honesty is the worst policy with her." Jim sighed, his head dropping towards the waves. "I don't know, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I've been wrong about everything since the start. I'm not even sure if I even really know her."

"What has led you to this conclusion?"

Kirk attempted a wry smile. "It wasn't just your record I looked up, you know. I looked up hers too- read her performance reports. _Cadet Winter is unmatched in marksmanship, strategy and alternate combat techniques, yet has shown persistent disrespect for the chain of command_," he quoted from memory. "_This unapologetic sweeping sense of entitled rebellion is second only to another cadet in her year_\- I'll assume that part was referring to me. But since when has V disobeyed orders? Sure, she'll question them if she thinks they're wrong and take initiative where it's necessary, but she'll follow them."

"That is incorrect, Jim," Spock Prime stated unequivocally, to Kirk's surprise. "If Miss Winter is anything like the young woman I knew in my timeline, she is prone to taking orders as suggestions and readily replacing any plan made by her superior officers with her own. Granted, her changes are usually proven to be well-founded, only bolstering her pride- but disobedience was always the darkest mark on her record. Your confusion is founded in the fact that she will unquestioningly take orders from those she deems worthy of commanding such unhesitating loyalty."

Kirk blinked.

"Huh."

"Talk to them," Spock Prime reiterated firmly.

"I'll- consider it," Kirk conceded. "You'll keep in touch, right?

"It would be my pleasure, Jim." He paused, weighing something in his mind. "May I call you Jim?"

Kirk blinked, and shrugged.

"I- yeah, sure. Of course."

The familiarity of the term of address from the older Spock was undeniably odd to the ear.

Odd, but not unpleasant, Kirk decided.

"Has it changed much?" He wondered, looking out into the city of San Francisco.

"No," Spock Prime replied, not needing clarification to give his reply. "Not, at least, where it matters."

* * *

_10 June, 2258 – San Francisco; California, Earth_

Uhura, as her xenolinguistics specialism and fluency in a plethora of Federation languages implied, communicated best through words, the nuance of spoken and written languages, stress and intonation- hence being friends with someone whose main mode of communication was a hard stare and her infuriating penchant for doublespeak was challenging. Perhaps that was why Uhura was always so cautious of Kirk- he was fluent in Valravn's preferred language and broke past any obscurity with only a token effort and a charm offensive so powerful that, within a hundred and twenty seconds of meeting her in the Shipyard Bar in Iowa, he had even made Uhura laugh.

_Jim knows how to seduce anyone and anything in sixty seconds flat- he's a smooth bastard, and you are not allowed to repeat that to his face or we will all suffer for it,_ McCoy had said once, and Uhura had agreed to both propositions. _But don't doubt that he honestly adores the bones of that girl,_ he had added. There was only one girl he could be referring to, and honestly, Uhura had no response for that- especially as she had slowly begun to believe that it was true.

But, at times like this, Uhura could read Valravn as though her mind had unlocked and become an open book, and that worried her more than the opacity ever could. For the past four weeks, her mood had been murky at best, crackling like a storm at worst. Had it been anyone else, Uhura would have attributed it to stress, but Valravn coasted along waves that would drown others as though it were water.

Then Gaila asked the question that she hadn't even thought to.

"Raven! Have you seen Jim lately?"

Valravn looked up from mindlessly stirring her coffee; Uhura was sure that it was the wrong order, but she hadn't made any complaint. In fact, she hadn't spoken much all day, letting the conversation between Gaila, Hai and Uhura wash over her from the walk off academy grounds to the teashop. There was something dimmed about her, withdrawn, dwelling upon something endlessly in the back of her mind, closing herself off as though she was studying an equation that was refusing to work.

"Not recently," Valravn replied, the spoon hanging from her loose grip, "no."

"What?" Gaila stared at her in surprise, meeting Uhura's darker and equally shocked gaze over the rim of her cup. "But that's crazy. You two barely go a day without talking."

Valravn shrugged, the movement almost ghostlike. "I expect he is still busy with the committees and debriefing."

Gaila hummed doubtfully, frowning deeply in thought. "No, they finished that a week ago-"

She cut herself off with a sharp intake of breath and a slight jolt, and Uhura glanced at Hai, who was seated opposite Gaila. Their mouth was set as they carefully, altogether too innocently poured out another measure of peppermint tea.

Gaila seemed to get the nonverbal message, pressing her lips together and twirling a stray curl of red hair around her finger apologetically.

Valravn's responding tone implied that she had known exactly how long it had been over up to the closest second.

"Busy with other things, then."

"Yeah," Gaila agreed chirpily, "of course."

An awkward silence ensued.

Uhura knotted her fingers together, trying to think of something to say. She wasn't blind; anyone who knew Valravn well enough could see that she was in deep when it came to Kirk. Uhura had long ceased her attempts to shield her from the consequences falling hard for an incorrigible flirt- Valravn felt her emotions uncompromisingly, for better or for worse, and all that Uhura and the others could do was try to help her survive the nuclear fallout that was almost guaranteed to ensue.

The issue was that _almost_ was the operating qualifier in that prediction. Rather than going into a full catastrophic meltdown, collapsing at her core like a massive star that had exhausted its nuclear fuel and becoming bright with viciousness, Valravn seemed to simple be fading like a lesser white dwarf, burning out quietly.

Valravn made an almost amused sound, apparently at the sudden mute atmosphere of the table, setting her teaspoon aside with a clink of silverware on ceramic. "I'll be leaving town early tomorrow anyway," she announced unceremoniously. "I should be gone for at least a week."

Uhura straightened at the abrupt news.

"Are you going to England?" She asked, her mind immediately swinging towards the location as the most obvious destination.

"No." Valravn circled the rim of her cup with one finger idly. "I have some- business to take care of."

"Bring us back a souvenir," Hai requested lightly, brushing over the lingering tension.

"I'm not sure that there will even be anything worth bringing back yet," she mused in reply. "But- I'll see what I can dig up." Valravn stared out of the window hollowly, bathed in a wash of gold from the setting sun, and somehow only more pallid for it. Uhura seethed with despairing frustration. "I should go. My apologies."

"It's fine," Uhura assured her with a gentle smile. "If you need to go."

Valravn gazed at her for a long moment before rising gracefully from her seat, leaving her untouched coffee.

"I'll see you all in a week or so. Take care of yourselves until then."

Uhura watched Valravn drift out of the teahouse, stepping out of the door and quickly swallowed beyond the windowpane by colour and light.


	16. Chapter XVI: Quintessence of Dust

_**A/N:** Apologies in advance to any Iowans if Valravn's assessment of your state is inaccurate; I saw a post on Tumblr describing typical road trip sights while travelling across the US Midwest that kind of coloured my perspective._

_Unrelated Author's Moment of Nerd: I recently discovered by chance that Valravn's name can be spelt with elemental symbols- vanadium (V), aluminium (Al), radium (Ra), vanadium again (V), and nitrogen (N): VAlRaVN. You can even spell her last name if you can overlook an extra E: tungsten, iodine, nitrogen, tellurium, erbium (W-I-N-Te-Er). I can't do_ James_ or_ Jim_ since there is no J in the periodic table of elements, but I can get_ Kirk_ (potassium, iridium, potassium: K-Ir-K),_ Tiberius_ (titanium (appropriate, as that song is on my writing soundtrack for this fic and ascribed specifically to Kirk), boron, erbium, iodine, uranium, sulphur: Ti-B-Er-I-U-S- or you can use ununseptium (Uus) instead of uranium and sulphur, if you can deal with the extra U), and even_ Captain_ (calcium, phosphorous, tantalum, indium: Ca-P-Ta-In). You can also spell_ Spock_ (sulphur, phosphorus, oxygen, carbon, potassium: S-P-O-C-K), _Nyota Uhura_ (nitrogen, yttrium, oxygen, tantalum: N-Y-O-Ta, then uranium, hydrogen, uranium, radium: U-H-U-Ra), and even_ Gaila_ (gallium, iodine, lanthanum: Ga-I-La). No_ Khan,_ due to no free-standing A or one with an N (the best I could do is K-H-Am with potassium, hydrogen and americium, blech) but I can just about manage_ Harrison_ by missing out an R (hydrogen, argon, iodine, sulphur, oxygen, nitrogen: H-Ar-I-S-O-N)._

_Yes, I do Chemistry. Yes, I am a nerd. Yes, I spent too long contemplating this. Moving swiftly on._

_Take special note of the chapter name in conjunction with the quote given by Valravn close to the end. If you know the full speech, it will be- indicative of future events, shall we say. T__he next chapter__ may be a while in the works because I have quite a few exams coming up, but working on it should help keep my sane. Especially as it will be_ the_ chapter. Yep, that one._

_Reminder: **the sections of this chapter are non-chronologically ordered**, as indicated by the dates and times given at the start of each. __For reference: CST is Central Standard Time- the time zone of Iowa, six hours behind GMT. PST is Pacific Standard Time- the time zone used in California, eight hours behind GMT. GMT is Greenwich Mean Time, which is more or less UTC, Coordinated Universal Time. (Side-note: just for additional weirdness, the UK- where I live- uses British Summer Time- instead of, you know, GMT, which originates in Greenwich, which is a place in the UK; I know, confusing- which is one hour ahead of GMT during the summer months. It's similar to DST, Daylight Savings Time. And yes, for those who do not have this in their country, it_ is_ a pain in the ass to change all of the clocks to one hour forwards at the end of spring, and one hour back at the start of autumn. Plus losing an hour is a bitch.)_

_Anyway- as always, enjoy._

* * *

XVI  
_Quintessence of Dust_

_04:14 PST (12:14 GMT), June 22, 2258 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

There was no one else around when she returned that morning. The campus was misty, and quiet; the latter was more common of late around the academy, she had noticed, its ambient energy subdued, the lecturers more lenient, the cadets more sedate. As she stepped onto the dew-soaked grass that morning, before it was even fully light, there was no one in view- no joggers, no night owls drifting back from the library, no nightclub-crawlers sneaking back from a night out. The world was still. Accordingly, she shut of the engine and left her bike just outside the grounds, an angular shadow beneath the trees in the pre-dawn light, taking a strong, waterproof single-strap bag from the storage compartment and snapping the seat back down. There seemed no reason to disturb the academy while at rest.

Valravn followed the illuminated paths, shielded by the forcefield above from the faint drizzle that was curling loose strands of her hair, the solar-powered lamps floating ephemeral in the haze. She wore strengthened but supple black leather from throat to heel, a streamlined motorcycle helmet hanging from her hand, straps clicking rhythmically with her steps, gloved hand hooked beneath its chin, the bag slung over her back, its sole strap crossing her chest. She could feel the weight of its cargo within, edges pressing against her, as she crossed into the freezing shadow of the Apollo Block of dormitory halls.

The duplicate card had been a precaution; when a friendship began with her rescuing him from a bar fight and getting him safely back to his room, it seemed sensible to ensure she had access to said room again if the worst happened. It was a good enough copy not to be caught by the campus digital security systems, and the board were apparently of the opinion that biometrics-based security was excessive. Valravn ran the card through the scanner and was granted access, stepping through the doors and into the elevator.

The hallway was empty. Valravn's footfalls were quiet and cautious as a thief as she halted outside a particular door, kneeling and setting her helmet aside beside her and sliding the bag off her bag, catching it before it hit the floor. Extracting the precious items from within, she laid them against the closed door, setting a single piece of folded paper- real paper, made of wood pulp blended and smoothed and set and bleached- atop them, before picking herself up with the empty bag and helmet.

For a long, wavering moment, she debated knocking on the door.

It was absurdly early. But he had never seemed to mind.

It would be so easy.

She could tell him everything. She could tell him where she had been for the past eleven days, ask him where he had been for the past thirty-four, just talk and in the process realise that she had been completely ridiculous and feel the suffocating weight lift off her chest.

Valravn reached out, her fingertips brushing the smooth white polypropylene of the door, cold and almost metallic.

_What if he doesn't want to see me?_

_What then?_

Her hand dropped.

Valravn resolutely turned away and walked back to the elevator.

* * *

_(One hundred and thirty-one hours earlier)_

_17:09 CST (23:09 GMT), June 16, 2258 – Jesse Lee's; Iowa, Earth_

"Jeez, Frank, you look like crap."

"Shut up," he muttered as he slunk up to the bar, ragged and bad-tempered as a bear. A spatter of red beneath his skin- crushed capillaries and pooling blood, the swelling crowding his vision- marked out a blow to the temple and eye socket. "I need a damn drink."

The bartender barely twitched an eyebrow, accustomed to that particular customer's unremitting, characteristic belligerence.

Frank's fellow patron, however, with little entertainment other than the ancient tunes droning out of the vinyl jukebox in the corner and the news visible onscreen nearby, had no qualms about baiting him further.

"You always need a drink. And it's gonna take more than a couple of Budweisers to fix that face- what the hell happened?"

"You have no idea," Frank snarled. "_None_."

* * *

_13:48 CST (17:48 GMT), June 16, 2258 – Iowa, Earth_

He had been gone an hour at most.

He came back that morning from picking up a spare part for the irrigation system to find an unfamiliar, matte-black spokeless motorcycle- the kind that would hover a centimetre off the ground to preserve the tires but dropped at the deployment of the breaks, halting with the assistance of drag wings- parked outside the farmhouse in the shade of a few trees. When he checked the engine, he found it cool to the touch, which was even stranger; the farmland was a good few acres and stretched in both directions on the dust road, and he couldn't think of a reason that anyone would drop by unexpectedly for a prolong visit that wasn't at least slightly suspicious.

In conjunction with this, the fact that the front door of the house was also unlocked and ajar was downright disconcerting.

Swinging the door open on well-oiled hinges, the tread of his boots was soft and slow as he slipped into the hallway, hand wrapping around the supple grip of a weighty metal baseball bat that had been resting against the wall. He crept towards a quiet, steady, almost idle rhythmic tapping coming from the kitchen, the bat swung up over his shoulder, ready to swing and crack open the skull of anyone behind it.

The tapping paused. He kicked open the door.

The intruder was a girl.

More specifically, it was a young woman in renegade black motorcycle leathers, jacket draped over the back of the chair and heeled boots propped up on the edge of the table, ankles crossed. Dark hair the colour and gloss of ink was braided up and coiled at the back of her head in a tight neat knot, light blue eyes startling against her lashes and the bared skin of her arms and above the neck of her tank top brushed with summer heat and sun.

"What the fuck?"

"My apologies," the stranger said calmly, unfazed by the outburst, toying with something in her lap. "It really is impolite for me to visit unannounced, let alone enter, but you were out and I am on a tight schedule- and I did so want to see where he grew up." She lifted what was in her hands and turned it to face him with a twist of her wrist- a framed photograph, one of the only ones he displayed, of him and his wife. "He really does take mostly after his father in his looks, doesn't he? I guess you wouldn't know, though. Unless you've seen the news?" The girl continued cordially, ignoring his mounting incredulous glare. "I don't think they've put the image out yet, but I'm a little behind on the updates from driving out here. Strange place, Iowa. Nothing but corn, weird road signs, bars and- more corn."

"Okay, who the hell are you?" He snapped. At this point, he was more annoyed than panicked; the girl was clearly some whacko off her meds, and judging by the look of her, he could easily overpower her if she came at him with a shiv or something. "And why are you in my house?"

"The more pressing question is who you are," she replied expressionlessly. "You are Francis Pirelli, the widow of Winona Kirk. Or, at least I hope you are. Otherwise this endeavour of mine has been completely pointless, not to mention dreadfully embarrassing on my part."

"Who_ are _you?" Something clicked: the Kirk name, the recent news- _him_. "Wait. You're a reporter, aren't you? Well, sorry, sweetheart, but I got nothing to say about that worthless brat except for that the day that he left was the best-"

"I am not here for an interview," she cut him off, clean as silk.

Frank froze. Her expression was dangerously blank- what could only be described as serene rage.

"Then what the hell _do_ you want?" He exploded, unnerved. "You had better tell me right now, or I'm calling the cops. Might do that anyway- since, newsflash, you're trespassing."

Her smile was ice. "What I want is for you to give back what you are keeping from your younger stepson out of spite."

Frank's eyes narrowed with realisation and thinly-veiled contempt.

"So- Jim sends a girl to do his dirty work-"

"James doesn't know that I am here. And this girl could crush your throat with one punch, so watch your tongue," she added brightly. "I do not appreciate anyone insulting James Kirk, particularly with lies, and particularly not when said lies are spectacularly hypocritical."

"Get out of my house," Frank bit out, throwing the bat aside with a clatter.

"Once I have James' things," she answered coolly. "Winona left something for him- something of his father's- something she kept for him, even after everything that happened, because he was her son."

His jaw flexed. "I don't know what you're-"

"The vinyl record, containing a studio-remastered version of a live-session recording of _Drift Away_ by the Rolling Stones-" she said, her eyes hard and steady as blue marble, "_where is it_?"

"I don't have it," Frank said dismissively, just slightly too fast. "Sold it-"

"That is a lie, Francis," she said with a bored sigh, as though she had anticipated the answer and was mildly disappointed that he was so pitifully predictable. "You have it here. In this house. Locked in the attic."

Frank tensed, hearing the shake in his voice as he scrambled for his thoughts. "What- how did you- look, that's _it_! I don't know who you are, and I don't care. I'm not giving you _shit_, so get out of my damn house before I call the-"

She laughed coldly, the sound glacial. "The fact that you think you have a choice is _hilarious_," she commented, lowering her boots from the table, the movement feline, like a cat stretching. "I am leaving this house with what rightfully belongs to James Kirk. Whether or not I have to cut off your hands to get to it makes no odds to me."

"You're insane," Frank sneered, his nostril flaring and pulse pounding with every second the young woman in front of him remained unnaturally composed. "I'm calling the police-"

In one swift motion she was on her feet, poised like a predator with a target in her sights, and Frank faltered, taking an instinctive half-step back.

Her head cocked to one side, smiling, the curve of her mouth like a scimitar.

"_Try_," she suggested, her tone dripping with ominous humour. "_Please_."

"What, like your skinny ass is gonna stop me?" Frank sneered, shifting, inching towards the video communicator panel mounted into the wall.

"I don't threaten," she said lightly, hooking her thumbs into her belt-loops. "But I would think that it would be hard to talk without a tongue-"

Frank lunged and stabbed the emergency call button.

Nothing happened.

He jabbed at the button, again and again, but the display was dead and unresponsive. Frank began hammering at the dimmed button desperately, hard enough to risk cracking the glass.

"Damn it- _damn_ it, come on, work, you _stupid_-!"

"Whenever you're done," he heard a voice call from behind him.

Feeling a cold sweat prickle at the back of his neck, Frank slowly turned to glare over his shoulder at the girl. She was leaning back against the edge of the counter worktop, arms crossed, watching him with mild amusement.

"What did you do?" He breathed.

"What do you think I did?" She asked with contempt, the last traces of mirth dropping away. "Now then," she briskly crossed the kitchen to where the extensive knife and barbecue rack rested and, with the precision and discerning eye of an expert- Frank supressed a shudder at the realisation that she was no amateur, squaring his shoulders- she selected a butcher's cleaver that, like the rest of the set of culinary knives, was made from a singular continuous piece of metal; she slid it out with a whisper of steel, the flat of the blade so wide that it could have been used as a beaten-silver hand-mirror, "are you going to be a gentleman and show me to the attic, or do I start chopping? You should probably be aware before you make your decision that, because I don't know what set of fingerprints and palm scan will open the digital lock on the attic door, I will be obliged to relieve you of _both_ of your hands in the event of a lack of cooperation, so that I don't have to drag your entire unconscious bodyweight up three flights of stairs. And this blade is fairly dull," her fingers caressed the nicked edge, letting the cleaver flash in the sunshine, "and you don't own a knife-sharpener. So I _will_ have to hack away to get through that sinew and cartilage and bone in your wrists, and it _will_ hurt. You also don't seem to have a blowtorch in here- I'm guessing you're not a fan of _crème brûlée_\- so I will have to cauterise the wounds using the stove."

She indicated the black hotplate surface with the cleaver, twirling it back into her grip neatly, a smirk at her mouth promising every word of agony.

"Well?"

Frank was shaking. He clenched his fists until the knuckles turned to the colour of sand, stuttering them in a rapid rhythm against his thigh.

"Okay. I'll get the record," he said tightly. "As soon as you get it, you _leave_. There's nothing else-"

"Why do I have the sudden premonition that the next word out of your mouth is going to be a lie?" She mused darkly, her body still, like an animal that had caught the scent of blood. "There's more, isn't there? She kept something for him something other than the record- possibly an entire box."

Frank swallowed, shifting, knowing that his silence was betrayal enough of the truth.

"Excellent." She slid the cleaver back into the rack. "_Show me_."

He didn't move, boiling with rage but paralysed by indecision.

She lifted her hand gracefully, fingers extended like a dancer and hovering over the grip of the cleaver in a wordless threat.

Frank jerked his head towards the door. "Fine," he spat. "You win, you psycho."

The girl followed as he made for the stairs, her footsteps light but her heeled boots snapping. Frank led them up three floors to the loft, drawing down the retractable metal stairs and climbing up, pressing a hand to the outline of lock pad.

"Listen, you crazy bitch, as soon as you get his stuff, you get the hell out and never come back, or I swear, I'll fill you with buckshot next time you come around," he said as the digital lock scanned his prints. The girl made no response, and he scoffed. "Figures that Jim would end up hanging around a freak. Scum is good at attracting scum, and that ungrateful, worthless little toe-rag was never going to amount to much more than-"

"_Insult James Tiberius Kirk one more time and I will carve you up and leave you for the maggots_."

Frank fumbled with the door latch. He could feel her gaze like a dagger at the back of his skull.

Shoving the hatch open, he climbed up, half tempted to throw the heavy hinged door down behind him and fracture a few of her fingers- until she leapt up beside him with the agility of a cat, gazing at him expectantly. Frank moved into the loft, shunting a few boxes aside and unearthing the one the girl was looking for, kicking it across the scrubbed-wood floor towards her, leaving streaks in the film of dust.

"In there. The wooden box, I think."

The girl dropped to one knee, tugging open the lid. Frank circled around her, giving her a wide berth, as she pulled a large, flat record sleeve from the battered box- inked red and black, with lettering in garish yellow, the dyes faded by light and age, but not so much that it could have been the original; it was a reproduction, but a good one- and set it aside, before reaching back in a pulling out a latched wooden chest, small enough to carry easily but large enough to require both hands.

While her attention was occupied, Frank moved towards the hatch. If he could get down the ladder and shut the hatch, it would lock automatically and-

"Don't," she warned, setting the box aside and standing abruptly. "It wouldn't end well for you."

"Well," Frank replied, trying to inject as much hesitance as he could muster, still moving for the hatch- unbeknownst to him, the girl was rolling her eyes, "I guess in that case-"

She sighed, as though deeply disappointed, and spun like a dervish.

His vision filled with a shock of pain and white, then black.

"_Moron_."

* * *

_09:11 PST (17:11 GMT) June 16, 2258 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

"I confess that I was not expecting your offer of a recreational match to be much more than an impulsive suggestion that would be summarily forgotten to more pressing matters."

"That so?" Kirk intoned conversationally, taking the opportunity to move one of his rooks into a strategically superior position. They were seated in one of a dozen a solarium hollowed into one of the longest hallways in the academy, surrounded by a trapezium of bay windows on three sides and peaceful echoing silence on the fourth, the sun having shifted to cast a shaft of molten light across and through the board, backlighting Spock and striking across Kirk. Both had forgone Starfleet uniform for the day; neither of them had anywhere else to be, considering that half of the classes had been cancelled recently.

"Nor was I anticipating your skill," Spock added, surveying the new state of the tiered board, his dark gaze lingering on Kirk's resituated in acknowledgement of the move. "You are proving a challenging opponent."

"Huh, thanks," he replied lightly, leaning back in his seat and awaiting Spock's move, calculating potential routes to the king. The three-dimensional chess board was a nice set, the panels of glass of each tier chequered with alternating frosted and clear squares, the pieces opaque marbled white and serene translucent blue, assigned to Kirk and Spock respectively; Jim had always liked a battle, even a friendly one, to be on his own terms.

If nothing else, Kirk decided, Spock had exceptional taste in chess-board aesthetics, which was quite possibly the oddest compliment he had ever thought up.

"There is a matter I wish to discuss with you," Spock mentioned, shifting his surviving bishop a few spaces forwards.

"Shoot," Kirk said, not lifting his gaze from the board, mulling over the formation of three pieces he had left alone for a few too many turns.

"My conduct has not been exemplary," Spock said carefully. "Particularly towards you, it has become clear that I was worthy of reproach in certain situations-"

"Changed my mind," Kirk interrupted unceremoniously, using his knight to steal Spock's bishop. "I'm vetoing this conversation. Your move, by the way."

Spock paused, probably taken aback by the terse turnaround. "My intention was to apologise for my conduct, Mr Kirk."

"Would it _kill_ you to drop the formalities? We helped save this planet from destruction by risking our lives together and right now we're playing chess in civilian threads. I think we're past ranks and titles at this point," Kirk said, raising his eyebrows at Spock with a brief glance across the table. "And I know what your intentions were. I'm telling you that there's no need for it. You had just lost someone important to you in an unanticipated and unprovoked attack on the planet you grew up on- I remember what grief does to you. Let's move on."

Spock's gaze fixed on him, intent. "You speak as though from experience."

"Two years ago." Kirk replied simply, but not without a shade of solemnity; to the casual listener, however, his tone seemed almost light. "My mother. I found out after the fact. I felt guilty, and angry, and guilty for being angry, and angry for feeling guilty about being angry- I was a mess. It's not my proudest moment. But it taught me something." He fixed Spock with a blazing stare. "_Ignoring emotions is not the same as controlling them._ And they don't just go away because you want them to. I had help coming to that conclusion, but I never forgot it."

Spock considered this without comment, finally making his move.

"I have a question. You are not obliged to answer."

"Go for it."

Spock took a moment to decide whether this was permission.

"There has been what may most accurately be referred to as rumours circulating throughout the Starfleet Academy campus," he began.

"Wouldn't have thought you were the type to listen to gossip," Kirk said casually, twirling one of his pawns between the pads of his fingers like a top before setting it down in the sights of Spock's king. "Anyway- sorry, go on."

"You are correct in your assessment in that I have no proclivity for unsubstantiated claims heard in informal conversation," Spock agreed delicately, shifting slightly in his seat, his gaze sweeping the board, mouth set with a new focus. "However- those that appear to contain a kernel of truth demand investigation."

"Makes sense. So you're concerned about a rumour on campus and whether it's true or not?" Spock canted his head to one side slightly in confirmation. "Well, if you want to know whether something is true or not, trace it back to its source as far as you can. Even if you don't get close to the fire, you should at least find some smoke." Kirk rested his chin on the heel of his hand, watching Spock advance a pale blue glass pawn. "If you want, I could look into it. What's it about?"

"It concerns Valravn Winter- your paramour."

Kirk froze, his hand halfway towards one of his pawns.

"My _what_?"

"Your affair with Miss Winter is not entirely unfamiliar to me. Although I do not know the details, nor would I presume to define it, your relationship is well known-"

"Wait, wait- again, _what_?"

Spock blinked, taken off-guard.

"Are you and Cadet Winter not- involved?"

Kirk gave a sharp, unsteady laugh. Of all things he would have imagined Spock would have wanted to ask, a query starting with the assumption that Valravn was his girlfriend was not it- in the back of his mind, he had in fact been occupied with reconstructing a believable excuse as to why, at the memorial held for Vulcan a few days earlier, he had been able to approach Spock to utter a quiet traditional Vulcan expression of condolence with flawless pronunciation.

"Uh, no. We're not, uh, _involved_, no," Kirk managed to force out.

"Your response would indicate that you are not opposed to the prospect," Spock noted thoughtfully.

"I'm not opposed to it at _all_-" He cut himself off with a shake of his head, berating himself for his own stupidity; there was only one reason for the question. "Uh- never mind. I'm, ah, guessing that Uhura was expressing her intense dislike of me."

Spock inclined his head. "She has expressed concern for her friend. Dislike was not present."

"Not anymore, maybe," Kirk acknowledged, moving his pawn, distracting himself from the strange turn of the conversation by focusing on Spock's pieces closing in on his king; his queen was waiting in the wings to attack Spock's own exposed sovereign piece, but there was a knight in his path- he would have to move fast, but subtly. For now, his rook and a handful of pawns could hold off the assault.

Kirk strummed his fingers against his armrest. "I've been- sorting some things recently. And V's out of town at the moment, or so I've been told- I haven't seen her in a while."

"I see." Spock's stare was carefully trained on a dazzling wink of light at the edge of the chessboard where the sun had caught it. "My apologies if the question was too- intrusive. Her sudden departure on a trip with undisclosed aims, even to her closest friends, was concerning. There were many questions as to why she left so abruptly and for what reason. She was a student under my tutelage, and I was enquiring to see if you could shed light upon the matter, as you two seemed- close."

"It's fine, we are, it's not that," Kirk said distractedly, preoccupied with a far more important matter. "It's just- does everyone seriously think that we're dating?!"

"It- was my impression that a supposed romantic link between you was common knowledge," Spock replied warily.

Kirk sank back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Great, now I really do have _no_ excuse not to tell her. Peer pressure. _Fantastic_," he muttered.

"I am afraid I do not understand what-"

"D-don't worry about it, Spock." The prospect of trying to explain the complexity of his feelings for Valravn Winter to the half-Vulcan was tantamount as daunting as explaining them to the one-woman army herself. "It's your move."

* * *

_16:54 CST (22:54 GMT), June 16, 2258 – Jesse Lee's; Iowa, Earth_

The bar was exactly the brand of hell-forsaken dive that she easily could have imagined Kirk frequenting a few years ago, with its nearly prehistoric jukebox retrofitted to accept credits rather than metal coins, the rusting decorative road-signs mounted on wooden walls and cracked leather advertising itself as a shameless throwback. Then again, now that she was finally standing on its dusty soil and beneath its beating-sun skies, Valravn saw so much of Iowa in Kirk, underneath the stylish San Francisco bay-side finish- or maybe she just saw a lot of Kirk in Iowa. Valravn couldn't be sure; being in love was confusing. Not to mention that it clouded the issue.

Stepping into the dim, mercifully air-conditioned bar, she peeled her superheated leather jacket from her shoulders, letting the heat evaporate briskly, sweat cooling, eyes adjusting from the blazing sun outside. Valravn picked out an empty booth that would keep her back to the wall and eyes to the door- an unnecessary measure, probably, seeing as how dead the place was- and threw her jacket onto an empty seat, settling under a chilled breeze from an AC vent.

The bartender tossed a white dishtowel over their shoulder and walked over. "What's your poison, sweetheart?"

_Sweetheart_. Damn it all, that word spoken in that accent should not have such a profound effect on her.

"Something colder than the arctic and non-alcoholic," she requested. "I have to drive back in a few hours."

"Ah, you visiting?"

"A friend of mine grew up around here," Valravn said. It wasn't a lie. "I wanted to see it for myself." That wasn't a lie either.

"A friend, huh? Anyone I might know?"

"Undoubtedly," Valravn replied archly. "If you make this drink good, I might even tell you."

The bartender grinned. "Chilled coffee?"

"Tall and over ice- thank you, that sounds perfect."

"I'll bring it over."

Valravn watched them return behind the bar cautiously, waiting until they were at an appropriately safe distance before tipping her head back against the seat, the hard edge settling on the weave of her braid, closing her eyes with a sigh. She needed to think- something that the smothering heat was not well suited to.

The pain, she was finding, was beginning to numb; it hadn't lessened by any means, but it was less immediate- she had compressed it into a constant ache, rather than feeling as though she had been shot and the bullet was lodged in her chest, shifting and grinding against bone with every move she made. It might have been karma- cosmic retribution for breaking her own resolve of connecting herself to as few people as possible- or an existential prank, by giving her the one problem that she knew she couldn't solve. She wasn't unaccustomed to twisting laws and boundaries until they fit around her in whatever arrangement she wanted- that was the beauty of learning the laws of science and knowing how to deconstruct and reconstruct them to her advantage- but for this she was laughably underprepared.

_Or maybe you just love him for _him_,_ the voice of cold reasoning interjected flatly, sounding almost bored by her excuses. _End of story. And you don't want to accept that because it means that this is a downfall of your own making._

_Shut up_, Valravn directed at the inner voice, draining half of her glass. _Logic doesn't belong here, it's_ love_. And if anyone ever says in front of me that it's the best feeling in the world, I swear that I will cut out their tongue for being an unabashed liar. It feels like my body is rejecting my heart. Love is a _disease_\- a parasite._

Her mother would be horrified to know that she took such a view, but Valravn had always known herself well. Love took different forms- that small truth was one of the things that Karin had managed to teach her- and hers was a bright thread of protectiveness, raw and devouring and self-destructive. It wouldn't matter if James Kirk ever loved her or not, or even if he had chosen to leave her behind as he stepped into whatever future that the past two months had opened for him. Valravn would still love him, unconditionally, as surely as she would still love every soul who had broken their way into her heart and would remain there even if they left her.

_And _that_ is love._

The thought was sweetness made bitter, like burned sugar.

_You're not crying,_ Valravn told herself as she wiped something wet away from the creases of her eyes, smudging it until it dried on her skin. She shivered under the draft from the air conditioning. _You're not crying._

Her glass contained only melting glass and dregs of cold coffee when a welcome distraction stepped through the door, a fresh bruise exploding across his face from what Valravn knew first-hand was a roundhouse kick. The sight of it cheered her considerably. With some sadistic amusement, Valravn wondered if she had knocked him out for several hours- and if he had tripped over the large kitchen knife she had left on his front doorstep as a last warning.

She could have tested him further, but she had delivered retribution and gotten what she came for, so there was no need to plague him.

However, the drink _was_ good.

Gathering up her jacket, Valravn lifted the empty glass and eased out the napkin underneath, stained with a ring of water, and wrote a single name of the tissue before wrapping it in the appropriate amount of credits, and leaving.

She didn't stay to hear the bartender announce with a laugh that the customer in the motorcycle leathers was a friend of Jim Kirk's, or witness Frank Pirelli turn puce with rage.

* * *

_June 22, 2258 – Starfleet Academy; California, Earth_

Graduation day was a momentous occasion for all who were involved, transcending the boundaries age, experience, and whether it was viewed from the amphitheatre steps or within the assembled ranks of active-duty tutors and seasoned academic alumni. That summer day should have felt no more or less significant a fragment in time than those to come before it. However, if it did, it was a sin easily forgiven- especially as the sun-shaming brightness of the cadet who was called out of the shining formation of red was infectious beyond measure, even as he snapped into a formal salute that would put Starfleet veterans to shame. Those in front rows- standing just behind the tutors, and comprised of those cadets who had constituted the bridge crew of the _Enterprise_ under _Captain_ James Tiberius Kirk- seemed to glow in particular with something that none of them yet could put a name to.

"Your inspirational valour and supreme dedication to your comrades is in keeping with the highest traditions of service," Admiral Barnett announced as Kirk stood before him, blue eyes alight with a spark that refused to fade. "And to reflect utmost credit to yourself, your crew and the Federation, it is my honour to award you with this commendation."

The medal lay within a metallic box lined with black velvet and white suede- a star of the Starfleet emblem in a bronze so bright that it caught silver, its topmost point elongated as though in the wake of a warp drive before it propelled its vessel at full speed, attacked to a ribbon of bold red.

The pin slipped easily into the fabric of his dress uniform.

"By Starfleet Order 28455, you are hereby directed to report to Admiral Pike, U.S.S. _Enterprise_ for duty, as his relief."

Even Barnett, a pinnacle of professionalism, allowed the ghost of a smile to cross his face.

Kirk pivoted and walked with brisk, confident steps to where his mentor waited. Christopher Pike, defiantly hale thanks to modern miracles of medical science, sheer stubbornness, and his niece's many antics and minor rule infractions committed during his recuperation designed solely for his amusement, was seated in a sleek steel wheelchair, back straight and dressed in colours befitting his recent promotion, hair that was once black steel was threaded with pewter-grey.

"I relieve you, sir."

Despite the precision formality, the corners of Kirk's mouth were turned up, just faintly enough to be negligible by a willing observer- of which there were many in attendance.

His mentor only returned the gesture, a hint of a double-meaning underlying the formal response.

"I am _relieved_," Pike replied summarily.

Kirk gave a short nod, eyes flicking down to meet his, his words weighted with just as much unspoken meaning, born of three years of advice, chastisement, encouragement, and mutual respect.

"Thank you, sir."

"Congratulations, _Captain_." He shook Kirk's hand, his voice lowering slightly, keeping the following declaration between them. "You father would be proud."

The hall below exploded into tumultuous applause, and Jim turned towards them, radiant in the white light streaming from the atrium windows.

Unseen from the mezzanine, Spock Prime felt a distinct emotion- joy blended with subdued melancholy- well up inside him, contained but readily acknowledged. The effects of his unintended interference in the timeline had changed Jim- his edges were rougher, his manners brasher, his instincts bolder, not yet made keen by insight and the philosophical mind that he could still sense, lying dormant, underneath.

Jim Kirk needed time now, and he had plenty of it.

Even so, to see him again was beyond anything that Spock Prime felt that he had earned. He was infinitely grateful that he had been permitted, by chance or by fate, to see his dearest friend again.

"_Thrusters on full,_" Spock Prime murmured, wistful for a lingering moment for a life that he had lived once before and lived well.

So preoccupied was he with these thoughts that were both despondent and its unremitting antithesis, Spock Prime did not notice the approach of the sole figure who happened to be the only one missing from their place in the graduating ranks celebrating below.

"So, this was his secret."

Spock Prime stiffened infinitesimally. He had not heard that voice for over a century.

He turned towards its source, expressionless. Valravn Winter stood like a sylph at the top of the stairs that led up to the otherwise empty balcony. She looked worn, Spock Prime realised, more than he had ever seen her in his own time, diluted, brittle as glass, an aura of resignation making her placid.

"Spock," she proposed.

Spock Prime inclined his head.

"Affirmative," he replied cautiously. "If I may ask- how did you know?"

Valravn gave an elegant shrug, moving towards him idly, looking over the railing, their conversation effectively silenced by the tumultuous chatter below, the spell of ceremony broken. "I saw it in his eyes," she said quietly, glancing down over the mezzanine to the floor of the hall, "when he came back to the _Enterprise_. He looked as though he had aged a year for every hour he had been away."

"You know him well," Spock Prime observed.

"So do you, evidently," Valravn riposted, barely moving, leaning back on her elbows against the cold steel railing.

Spock Prime made no denials.

"You know, James Tiberius Kirk is the most brilliant person I have ever met," Valravn stated hollowly, the expression behind the ice-sheet of her irises unstable, "but he is not invincible, and he is not infallible. And he doesn't understand that yet. But one day, he will have to. It will be a lesson in blood, and I cannot protect him from that." She gave a bitter smile. "_Icarus is flying towards an early grave._"

"The ancient tale of a man who made great golden wings of wax and feathers, but flew too close to the sun; thus the wings melted, and he fell to his death," he recalled.

"I don't know how to protect him." Valravn admitted, strained, as though the thought physically hurt her.

"You love him," Spock Prime acknowledged, conflicted as to whether that fact brought him relief or apprehension. He remembered Valravn's intensity, and its thrall, like being trapped in a crevasse of blue ice the same sparkling shade of her eyes, shot with an irregular Catherine wheel of needle-fine white. "You would follow him anywhere he asked."

"To the letter of every last order and into hell itself. But it's not enough."

"You cannot protect a person from themselves."

"You seem accustomed to giving advice," Valravn noted with all the swift force of a steel trap. "On Delta Vega- I'll assume that's where you met- did you give him advice?"

"I did."

"Why?"

Spock Prime drew up short momentarily, surprised by her forthrightness. The Valravn that he had known, once, and the one before him both seemed to possess a subtle edge, hiding truth behind rhetoric, everything implied and rarely if ever direct.

"In order to allow him to avoid repeating the mistakes of another life."

Valravn straightened slowly, her eyes never leaving Spock Prime. "You meeting James on Delta Vega, giving him exactly the information he needs to stop Nero, and the presence of a brilliant physicist and engineer at the lone outpost- that is either breathtaking coincidence or fate at work, trying to correct the changes to the timeline. If that's true, then what you are trying to prevent may easily still come to pass- perhaps by your own hand."

"I had considered this," Spock Prime responded evenly. "Though ever capricious in its nature, fate greatly resists being subverted. A person's destiny belongs to the decisions they make, but the pathways that are placed before them, the situations in which they find themselves- much of that is decided for them."

"How poetic," she intoned, unmoved.

"As I recall it, you adore poetry, particularly that of Earth," Spock Prime replied. "_Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art- not in lone splendour hung aloft the night_-"

"That's Keats," Valravn interrupted sharply, tensing as though struck. "James loves Keats."

"You were more partial to Blake, and Shakespeare." He turned away, hands clasped behind his back. "_What a piece of work is a man-_"

"_How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty,_" she picked up the thread effortlessly. "_In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action, like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!_"

She didn't finish the speech, leaving its conclusion ringing in deafening silence in the space between them.

"Advise me, then, Horatio," she called expressionlessly. "Stop my mistake before I make it."

"I can give you no advice," Spock Prime said quietly, with an echo of regret. "None that you would take, and none that would help. Only that your future is yours. I implore you to choose your path wisely."

With those parting words, Spock Prime departed, leaving Valravn alone on the balcony.


End file.
